"Is that your way of making up?" cried Cathie, when she had the breath to speak.
"Yes; it is as good as any other way. It spins the nonsense out of you. There!" with a last pat on the thin shoulder, she left her, and ran back to Polly.
"It's all done," she cried. "I'm at peace with the whole world. Now don't look like an ogre any longer."
"Phronsie's actually hungry now all the time," confided Polly in a glow, "and we can't get enough to satisfy her."
"Good—good!" cried the girls.
"I'm going to send her some of my orange jelly," declared Alexia. "I'll make it just as soon as I go home. Do you think she will like it, Polly?" she asked anxiously.
"Yes, I do believe she will," said Polly, "because she loves oranges so."
"Well, I shan't make any old orange jelly," cried Cathie, her nose in the air. "Faugh! it's insipid enough!"
"But 'tisn't when it's made the way Alexia makes it," said Polly, viewing in alarm the widening of the breach between the two. "I've eaten some of hers, and it's too splendid for anything."
"I don't know anything about hers, but all orange jelly I have tasted is just horrid. I hate it! I'm going to make almond macaroons. They're lovely, Polly."