Polly, halfway down the stairs, looked back. "Oh, you are up," she said, with a smile. "Now that's fine; come." And she held out her hand.
"Mercy me, and O my!" cried Adela. "I can't go looking like this; why, I'm a perfect sight, I know, Polly Pepper! and my nose feels all bunged out of shape and as big!"
"Never mind," said Polly, as reassuringly, "just dash some water over it, and it'll be all right. I'll wait here for you."
So Polly stood on her stair while Adela, bemoaning all the way that she didn't look fit to be seen, and that she was a perfect sight, and she couldn't go down among them all, stumbled back into her room. And pretty soon Polly heard a big splash. "O dear me—oh, what shall I do?"
"What is the matter?" cried Polly, deserting her stair, to run in and up to the washstand.
"Just see what I've done," exclaimed Adela, holding out one arm. It was dripping wet, and the water was running off in a stream and down to meet a small puddle where the splash had struck on the floor.
"The pitcher slipped—O dear me—ugh—" cried Adela, wriggling all over.
"Stand still," said Polly, "do, Adela, till I wipe your sleeve dry."
And she got the towel and began to sop and to pat Adela's arm.
"It never'll feel dry, it's perfectly awful—ugh—Polly Pepper," declared Adela, twisting away from Polly's fingers; "it's just like a wet snake—ugh—O dear me! and it gives me the creeps."
"You'll have to put on another waist, I do think," said Polly, hanging up the towel, aghast to find herself growing angry at all this delay, and with half a mind to run and leave Adela to herself.