“Oh, she can't come, because of her cousin,” said Polly, “and——”
“Well, I don't care whether she ever comes,” declared Leslie Fyle. “I can't abide that Silvia Horne.”
“Nor I,” said another girl, “she's so full of her airs and graces, and always talking about her fine place at Edgewood. Oh dear me! I'm sick of Edgewood!”
A little disagreeable laugh went around.
“Oh, I'll tell you of the accident,” said Polly; “come, let's sit down on the steps; we've ten minutes yet.”
“Yes, do, do,” cried the girls. So they huddled up together on the big stone steps, Polly in the middle, and she told them the whole story as fast as she could. Meantime other girls hurrying to school, saw them from a distance, and broke into a run to get there in time.
And Polly gave Alexia's love all round, as she had been commissioned to do.
“We'll go up to your house to see her,” cried Leslie, “perhaps this afternoon.”
“Oh, no, you mustn't,” said Polly. “I'm dreadfully sorry, girls, but Papa Fisher says no one must come yet, till he sends word by me.”
“I thought you said Alexia was all right.”