They were coming up the winding path that led to the Hall when they saw a black-clad figure that looked strangely familiar hurrying on before them.
“Isn’t that Polly Haddon?” asked Vi, eagerly. “Yes, it is. Oh, what luck!”
She was about to call out, but Billie stopped her.
“We’ll want to break it to her gently,” she warned, but her warning came too late. Polly Haddon had heard their voices and had glanced back indifferently.
Then, recognizing the girls, she turned and came hurrying toward them. At sight of her, Nick Budd dropped his burden in the snow and ran for all he was worth back the way he had come.
Billie tried to put herself between Polly Haddon and that bulky object in the snow, but once more she was too late. For the woman had seen.
With a little cry, Polly Haddon crumpled suddenly and lay out in the snow, as inert as a bundle of old clothes.
“Good gracious!” cried Laura frantically. “Now just when everything is beautiful and lovely, she’s gone and died!”
CHAPTER XXV—PRETTY FROCKS
But Polly Haddon had not died. One very seldom does—of happiness. Some way the girls managed to get her inside the Hall and administer hot drinks and hot food and in a surprisingly short time she was herself again.