One of these was Clem Forsythe.

"Oh, dear me!" cried Polly, looking up from the floor of her room, where
Phronsie and she had thrown themselves, the piece-box of ribbons between
them, "here comes Clem up the drive; now I 'most know she wants me to help
her on that sofa-pillow," and she twitched a square of yellow silk into a
tighter tangle. "How in the world did that spool get in here?" she
exclaimed, in vexation.

"I'll get it out, let me," begged Phronsie, dropping a fascinating bunch of
gay ribbons she was sorting in the hope of finding a pink one.

"Oh, you can't, child," cried Polly, her impatient fingers making sad work
of the snarl. "There, I'll break the old thing, there's no other way"--as
Clem ran over the stairs and into the room.

"Oh, I'm so glad to find you!" panted Clem. "Dear me! what _are_ you
doing?" And not waiting for an answer, she plunged on: "I stopped at
Alexia's--thought you might be there. And she's just as mad as can be
because I was coming over here for you. You see, her aunt has something for
her to do this morning. I'm tickled to death that for once I got ahead of
her. Whew! I'm so hot! I ran every step of the way." She threw herself down
on the floor beside the two. "My, what a sight of ribbons, Polly Pepper!"

"I'm going to have a silk bag, Clem," confided Phronsie, dropping the
little bunch of ribbons in her lap, to lean over to look into the tall
girl's face, "and I'm going to take my cushion-pin in it."

"Are you, really?" said Clem. "Oh, Polly, you see, I want you to----"