POLLY'S LETTER
Polly and Lois left for Fanny's the following Thursday and arrived the day before the dance. A description of their good time can best be gotten by reading Polly's letter to Betty, which was written a few days after:
"Dearest Betty:
"What a shame you couldn't be here. I know it's mean to tell you, but you've really missed the funniest kind of a time.
"I do hope your mother is much better by now. Please give her both Lois' and my love.
"And now to tell you all about the dance—as I promised. So many things happened it's hard to know where to begin. The first day I guess—
"Well, we arrived at this adorable little town about ten o'clock in the morning, and I thought when I looked out of our window as the train pulled in, that I was dreaming and it was a story book village. The sun was shining and it was as warm as toast. I don't know why the fact that the grass was green made such an impression on me, but it did. We've had so much snow up home that I couldn't believe there could be summer anywhere else.
"Is this lengthy description boring you, Betty dear? What is it Miss Porter always says, 'Create your atmosphere first, before you begin your story.' That's what I'm doing and you'll just have to be patient while I create a little longer. I simply must tell you about the funny little cabins. They're all over the place. A relic from the days of slavery, I suppose, and they're so little—just a room or two—that you gasp when you see large families standing out in front of them. It's beyond me to figure out how they can all go to sleep at once.
"Lois suggests that they take turns and I think she must be right. The little pickaninnies are too sweet for words; they have innumerable little braids sticking out all over their heads, and their big black eyes just dance with impishness. You'd love them.
"Fanny lives in a most wonderful story book house. It's red brick that's really pink. Oh, you know what I mean! And it's trimmed with white. Big colonial pillars up the front, and a lot of little balconies jut out where you least expect them. I have one out of my window, and every night I play Juliet to an imaginary Romeo in the rose garden below. Lo insists I am getting sentimental, but it's only the effect of the 'Sunny South,' which brings me, no matter how indirectly, to the boys we've met—and the dance!