To-day she had spoken rashly, for Polly, angry at the insult to
her friend, faced her with blazing eyes, while every little curl
on her head was dancing with indignation.
"It doesn't make any difference what you think about it, Miss
Bean. My mother has charge of me, not you; and she's glad to have
Jean come here."
"Dear sakes! Red hair does show in the temper," sighed Miss Bean,
unconsciously touching another sore spot, for Polly's hair was one
of her trials.
"I'd rather have red hair and a temper, than meddle with what
doesn't--" Polly was beginning hotly; but remembering that the old
woman, though uninvited, was yet a guest, she added hastily, "Come
into the house."
When she came out under the trees again, she found Jean still
sitting on the grass, with a little suspicious moisture around her
eyes. Polly dropped down by her side, and impulsively pulling
Jean's head over into her lap, she bent down and kissed her.
"It's a shame, Jean!" said she. "Don't you mind a word the old
thing says. I don't care anything about your grandpa and grandma;
they might have been brought up in jail, for all I care. It's you
that I like. She's a horrid old woman."
"I don't mean to care," said Jean disconsolately; "but some people
always have to tell me I'm a nobody.
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