They walked down Faculty Corridor, and tapped gently at the last door on the left.
“Come in,” called a voice, not Miss Porter’s.
They entered, to find Miss King, the trained nurse, sitting on the window box, a bunch of artificial flowers in one hand, and a rather battered velvet hat in the other.
“Is Miss Porter here?” Lois asked.
“Yes, just a minute,” Miss Porter was struggling in the depths of her closet. “I’ll be with you in a second; sit down.”
“What is it, costumes?” Miss King asked, when they were seated on the couch.
“Yes, we thought Miss Porter would help us decide what to wear,” Polly explained.
“I’m here about costumes, too, but it’s hardly the same. I’m begging. I found that poor little wretch Martha, who works in the laundry, out yesterday without a hat. I told her she’d catch her death of cold and to go put one on right away. She said she couldn’t because she didn’t have any.”
“Oh, the poor kid,” Polly’s sympathy was genuine.
“I’ve a tam I could give her to wear every day,” she said shyly, “if you think—”