"Nonsense, McDonald! Your hands were cold," Polly said. "You'll be fine in the morning and able to drive anything. Cheer up!" But McDonald only repeated: "I'm done for."
A lump rose in Polly's throat at his distress, and she leaned down and kissed his wrinkled old face.
She cried quite shamelessly all the way back to school—secure in the fact that no one could see her.
In the sleigh the girls were beginning to recover.
"Jemima!" Betty said, breaking a long silence. "Poll saved all our lives; do you know it!"
Connie shivered. "I'm just beginning to realize it," she said, solemnly. "All the time everything was happening I was trying to remember the last duet I learned." Everybody laughed.
"Polly is—" Miss Crosby began. "Well, she's so splendid that— But I guess we'd better not talk about it. We're all on the verge of tears."
"Let's cheer for her," some one suggested. "Maybe we'll get our courage back."
They gave it—a long, long one—that had in it all their admiration and gratitude. And every poor tired muscle in Polly's valiant little body throbbed with joy at the sound.