Part 6 (1/2)
Mother's given me five dollars to spend just as I like--but I shan't ask you now, so there!” She gave her head another toss, and walked off toward the door.
Phronsie deserted Polly and ran on unsteady little feet after her.
”Polly isn't mean and stingy,” she quavered; ”she couldn't be.”
Clem looked down at her, and little uncomfortable thrills ran all over her.
”Well, anyway, she's mad at me,” she said, with great decision.
”Oh, no, Polly isn't mad,” declared Phronsie. She clasped her hands, and swallowed very hard to keep the tears back, but two big drops escaped and rolled down her cheeks. When Clem saw those, she turned away.
”Well, anyway, I'm going down-street by myself,” she said, without a backward glance at Polly, and off she went.
”And if she thinks I'm going with her, or care what she does, after this,”
cried Polly, magnificently, with her head in the air, ”she'll make a mistake.”
”Polly, Polly!” The tears were rolling fast now, and Phronsie could scarcely see to stumble back across the room to her side.
”And you don't know anything about it, child. To think of making a violet handkerchief case, and mine is almost done, and none of the girls would copy mine! And Jasper drew the flowers on purpose.” She was going on so fast now that she couldn't stop herself.
”Mamsie wouldn't like it,” wailed Phronsie, clear gone in distress now, and hiding her face in Polly's gown.
”Mamsie would say--” began Polly decidedly. Then she stopped suddenly. ”Oh, what have I said!” she cried. ”Oh, what can I do!” She clasped her hands tightly together. She was now in as much distress as Phronsie, and, seeing this, Phronsie came out of her tears at once.
”You might run after her,” she said. ”Oh, Polly, do.”
”She won't speak to me,” said Polly, with a little s.h.i.+ver, and covering her eyes. ”Oh, dear, dear, how could I!”
”Yes, she will, I do believe,” said Phronsie, putting down a terrible feeling at her throat. Not speak to Polly?--such a thing could never be!
”Do run after her, Polly,” she begged.
Polly took down her hands and went off with wavering steps to the door.
”I'll get your hat,” cried Phronsie, running to the closet.
But Polly, once having decided to make the attempt at a reconciliation, was off, her brown braids flying back of her in the wind.
IV
MISS TAYLOR'S WORKING BEE
Looking both sides of the road, not daring to think what she would say if she really did see Clem, Polly sped on. But not a glimpse of the tall girl's figure met her eyes, and at last she turned in at a gateway and ran up the little path to the door. Mrs. Forsythe saw her through the window that opened on the piazza.
”Why, Polly Pepper,” she cried, ”what a pity that Clem didn't find you! She went over to your house.”
”Oh, I know, I know,” panted Polly, with scarlet cheeks.
”Don't try to talk,” said Mrs. Forsythe, ”you are all out of breath. Come in, Polly.”