“Anything else?” asked Polly, after a pause. “How about the hired bonnet and dress at the milliner’s?”
“Oh, dear, dear!” cried Grace, with a rush of dismay at the throng of bad results of her wrongdoing; “you can’t do all these things, Mrs. King! Oh, dear me! what shall I do?”
“Grace,” said Polly warningly.
Grace looked up and struggled with her tears, but she could not say anything for a minute. Then she broke out, “She said it would be five dollars for the two; and my pocket-book is at home. There’s plenty in it,” she added hastily, in confusion, “for papa had just sent me on my allowance; but I can’t get at it.”
“I shall go in and pay Madame Le Farge,” said Polly quietly, “and then you can pay me afterward, Grace. And Mrs. Higby is to pack up the dress and bonnet, and send them in by express. And Mrs. Atherton is to send your trunk out to-day. Then, dear, you will be quite comfortable as to clothes. Good-by;” and Polly came around to the side of the bed, and leaned over the back of the little table, and kissed her.
Grace, regardless of the fine walking-dress with its dainty bonnet and lace boa, threw both arms around Polly’s neck, and hugged her close.
“Take care,” warned Phronsie.
“Never mind,” said Polly, taking a rosy face from the embrace; “no harm is done. That is just the way we all used to fly at Mamsie. All right, Gracie;” going off with a smile.
“And now I’ve gone and done the wrong thing again,” mourned Grace in confusion, huddling down into the bed, and not looking at the discarded sail. “Oh, dear me! I wish I could think in time.”
“King wants his boat-sails this afternoon, Grace,” said Phronsie gently, “and I promised them.”