“Isn't it?” cried Cathie, well pleased that she had anything worthy of notice. “My uncle brought that from China to my mother when she was a little girl, and she gave it to me.”
“Well, it's too lovely for anything,” declared Polly, running to put it on the toilet table. “I do think Chinese carvings are so pretty!”
“Do you?” cried Cathie, well pleased. “My mother has some really fine ones, I'll show you sometime, if you'd like to see them, Polly.”
“Indeed, I should,” said Polly warmly. So Cathie, delighted that she really had something that could interest Polly Pepper, hurried through her preparations; and then the two went downstairs arm in arm, and out to the greenhouse.
“Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Cathie on the threshold, “I don't think I should ever envy you living in that perfectly beautiful house, because it just scares me to set foot in it.”
“Well, it needn't,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “You must just forget all about its being big and splendid.”
“But I can't,” said Cathie, surprised at herself for being so communicative, “because, you see, I live in such a little, tucked-up place.”
“Well, so did I,” said Polly, with a bob of her brown head, “before we came here to Grandpapa's; but oh, you can't think how beautiful it was in the little brown house—you can't begin to think, Cathie Harrison!”
“I know,” said Cathie, who had heard the story before. “I wish you'd tell it all to me now, Polly.”
“I couldn't tell it all, if I talked a year, I guess,” said Polly merrily, “and there is Turner waiting to speak to me. Come on, Cathie.” And she ran down the long aisle between the fragrant blossoms.