"He isn't?"
Polly paused irresolutely at the gate, then turned in.
"What are you going to do, Polly?" asked Florence.
"I'm going up to see Alan," responded Polly.
"But I thought we were all going down to see Bridget."
"Bother Bridget!" returned Polly, with some energy. "The rest of you can go all the time, if you want to; but it's my impression that charity begins at home. Here we've all of us had that everlasting old Bridget on the brain, and let Alan get along as best he can."
"But Alan has mamma, and Bridget hasn't anybody but us," said
Molly, in a virtuous tone of self-denial.
"I don't care if she hasn't," retorted Polly vehemently; "she has five of you to coddle her, and you just go there because you like the fun and think it sounds goody. There are enough of you without me, and one of you can take my afternoon, till Alan gets better."
"That's just like Polly," said Molly teasingly. "She always has liked boys better than girls."
Polly's face flushed.