They spent the afternoon in the garden, walking along, their arms about
each other's waists.

Later they would care for games, but this first day was delightful just
to talk together.

They passed a little arbor, and Polly stopped to admire it.

Just as she looked up at the vine that blossomed on its roof, a strange
little face peeped over the hedge, then dodged out of sight.

"Who was that?" Polly asked.

"Who? Where?"

"Just behind the hedge," whispered Polly.

Rose looked, and in an opening at the lower part of the hedge she saw a
bit of a dark gray frock.

"Oh, it's Evangeline Longfellow Jenks, the little girl that's going to
be a poet," whispered Rose.

"But you said her poetry was funny," said Polly, as softly as Rose had
spoken.

"It IS" declared Rose, "but she keeps writing it all the time."

Just then Evangeline's round, white face again appeared above the hedge,