But Polly, once having decided to make the attempt at a reconciliation, was off, her brown braids flying back of her in the wind.
IV
MISS TAYLOR'S WORKING BEE
Looking both sides of the road, not daring to think what she would say if she really did see Clem, Polly sped on. But not a glimpse of the tall girl's figure met her eyes, and at last she turned in at a gateway and ran up the little path to the door. Mrs. Forsythe saw her through the window that opened on the piazza.
"Why, Polly Pepper," she cried, "what a pity that Clem didn't find you! She went over to your house."
"Oh, I know, I know," panted Polly, with scarlet cheeks.
"Don't try to talk," said Mrs. Forsythe, "you are all out of breath. Come in, Polly."
"Oh, I can't. I mean I would like to see Clem," mumbled Polly, with an awful dread, now that she was on the point of finding her, of what she should say. It was all she could do to keep from running down the piazza steps and fleeing home as fast as she had come.
"Why, Clem isn't at home," said Mrs. Forsythe, in a puzzled way; "you know I told you she had gone over to your house. She wanted you to go down-town with her, to buy some materials to take over to Miss Mary's this afternoon and begin something new for the fair."
"Oh!" said Polly, in a faint voice, and hanging to the piazza railing.