But Polly was on hand to braid the thick, soft hair into a becoming coronet, and to assert that she knew the bride wouldn't look half so pretty.
Several days after, Polly danced in, her face full of the morning.
"You feel pretty well, don't you?" she began in her most coaxing way.
"A little better than usual," Miss Sterling laughed. "What do you want me to do?"
"You know David and Leonora and I went down to Fern Brook last week," Polly began deliberately, seating herself in the rocker which Miss Sterling did not like, "and ever since then I've been wishing it would come a lovely day for you and me to have a little picnic all by ourselves. Or we might ask one or two others, if you like. Will you, Miss Nita? You'll break my heart if you say no—I see it coming! Just say, 'I should be de-e-lighted to go!'"
"Oh, I'd love to, but—"
"No, there isn't a 'but' or an 'if' or anything! We're going! Who else do you want?"
"You crazy child! I'm afraid it will use me up. I don't dare risk it. We'll have to take the trolley—and the walk across lots—oh, I can't, Polly!"
"Yes, you're going! I've made up my mind! The trolley ride won't hurt you; you'll have nothing to do but to sit still, and the walk isn't long."
"Remember, I haven't been off the grounds, except for the wedding, in months."