"I think she's just elegant," declared Cathie Harrison, who had privately done a good deal of worshiping at Mrs. Fisher's shrine.
"She's a dear," voted Alexia. "Well, do come on. Oh, Joe!" as they reached the library door.
Joel sat back of the writing table, a mass of Polly's note paper and envelopes sprawled before him, his head on his hands and his elbows on the table. Back of him paced Pickering Dodge with a worried expression of countenance.
"You do look so funny," burst out Alexia with a laugh; "doesn't he, girls?" to the bright bevy following her.
"I guess you would if you were in my place," growled Joel, scarcely giving them a glance. "Go away, Alexia; you can't get me into a scrape this morning—I've to dig at this."
"I don't want to get you into a scrape," cried Alexia, with a cold shoulder to Pickering, who had been claimed by the other girls, "we're going to help you."
"Is that so?" cried Joel radiantly; "then I say you're just jolly,
Alexia," and he beamed at her.
"Yes, we want to help," echoed Cathie, drawing up a chair to the other side of the table. "Now do set us to work, Joel."
"Indeed and I will," he cried, spreading a clear place with a reckless hand.
"Take care," warned Alexia, "take care; you are spoiling all Polly's note paper. I wouldn't let you at my things, I can tell you, Joel Pepper!"