Alexia twisted and wriggled, as the pattering feet and quick breath of the girls when they neared her resting place, plunged her in dreadful distress not to look. “Oh dear—um! if I could just see once; um—um! I know Polly will win; oh dear! She must.”
But she didn't. It was Cathie Harrison, the new girl; that is, new to them, as they hadn't drawn her into their set, but a few weeks. She was a tall, thin girl, who got over the ground amazingly, to touch the green wicket gate certainly three seconds before Polly Pepper came flying up.
“You did that just splendidly, Cathie,” cried Polly breathlessly. “Oh dear me, that was a race!”
“Goodness me!” cried Alexia, her eyes flying open, “my face never'll get out of that knot in all this world. My! I feel as if my jaws were all tied up. Well, Polly, this time you beat for sure,” she added confidently, as the girls came running up to throw themselves on the grass again.
“But I didn't,” said Polly merrily. “Oh dear! I am so hot.”
“Yes, you did,” declared Alexia stubbornly.
“Why, Alexia Rhys! I didn't beat, any such a thing,” corrected Polly—“not a single bit of it.”
“Well, who did, then?” demanded Alexia, quite angry to have Polly defeated.
“Why, Cathie did,” said Polly, smiling over at her.
“What, that old—” then Alexia pulled herself up; but it was too late.