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."

"Oh, I can't. I mean I would like to see Clem," mumbled Polly, with an
awful dread, now that she was on the point of finding her, of what she
should say. It was all she could do to keep from running down the piazza
steps and fleeing home as fast as she had come.