"But it'll be the same thing," cried Polly, too angry to think what she was saying, "and you're perfectly mean and hateful to copy mine."
"Polly," cried Phronsie, in a distressed little voice. She had gotten up to her feet, and now hurried over to hold Polly's gown. "Oh, don't, Polly, don't!"
"Go away," commanded Polly, angrily twitching her gown free; "you don't know what you are doing, Phronsie, to stop me. She's gone and chosen the very thing I thought of all by myself."
"I guess there are other violet handkerchief cases in the shops," said Clem coldly. She was getting over her uncomfortable fit, and now she sprang to her feet. "And I think you are mean and stingy, too, Polly Pepper"—she tossed her head high in the air—"to expect to keep all the best things to yourself, and we're all working ourselves most to death over this old fair. And I did come to ask you to go down-town with me to buy my materials. Mother's given me five dollars to spend just as I like—but I shan't ask you now, so there!" She gave her head another toss, and walked off toward the door.
Phronsie deserted Polly and ran on unsteady little feet after her.
"Polly isn't mean and stingy," she quavered; "she couldn't be."
Clem looked down at her, and little uncomfortable thrills ran all over her.
"Well, anyway, she's mad at me," she said, with great decision.
"Oh, no, Polly isn't mad," declared Phronsie. She clasped her hands, and swallowed very hard to keep the tears back, but two big drops escaped and rolled down her cheeks. When Clem saw those, she turned away.
"Well, anyway, I'm going down-street by myself," she said, without a backward glance at Polly, and off she went.