"Why, you aren't so bad, Polly." And Molly surveyed her with frank criticism. "If only your nose wasn't quite so puggy, and you didn't have quite so many freckles, you'd be real good-looking. Besides, Alan says he likes your looks better than he does Florence's."
"Does he?" And Polly flushed with pleasure.
"Yes, he told mamma so the other day; you know boys have queer tastes," answered Molly flatteringly.
"But I wish I did know of something to take off freckles and tan," said Polly, rubbing her cheeks with a vicious force. "Aunt Jane wants me to wear a veil and keep white; but I'd rather be black and speckled all over, than make a mummy of myself. I think fresh air and sunshine were made to be enjoyed, and not to be peeked out at through a rag."
"It must be horrid to freckle," said Molly sympathetically. "Did you ever try anything for it, Poll?"
"No, only lemon juice once, and it all ran into my eyes and made them smart; but it didn't touch the freckles any."
"They say buttermilk is good," suggested Molly. "Why not try that?"
"That's a good idea," said Polly. "We have some, and I don't believe it would hurt. How do you use it, Molly? I'll do it to- night, and then I could start white with your cousins, anyway; and so much depends on first impressions, you know."
"I'm not just sure about it," answered Molly; "but I think they put it on over night, and rub it in well. You'd better not do it, if you are afraid it can do any harm."
"Oh, it can't," said Polly, with assurance; "and even if it does, anything is better than looking like a fright."