"
"I do hope they'll be nice," said Polly thoughtfully.
"Nice!" echoed Molly. "Of course they are. I'll tell you what,
Polly, Alan has been running them down to you. He is so queer
about it; I should think he'd like to have them come. They're just
as pretty as they can be, and boys always like pretty girls."
"Oh, dear," sighed Polly; "how nice it would be to be pretty!"
"Why, you aren't so bad, Polly." And Molly surveyed her with frank
criticism. "If only your nose wasn't quite so puggy, and you
didn't have quite so many freckles, you'd be real good-looking.
Besides, Alan says he likes your looks better than he does
Florence's."
"Does he?" And Polly flushed with pleasure.
"Yes, he told mamma so the other day; you know boys have queer
tastes," answered Molly flatteringly.
"But I wish I did know of something to take off freckles and tan,"
said Polly, rubbing her cheeks with a vicious force. "Aunt Jane
wants me to wear a veil and keep white; but I'd rather be black
and speckled all over, than make a mummy of myself. I think fresh
air and sunshine were made to be enjoyed, and not to be peeked out
at through a rag."
"It must be horrid to freckle," said Molly sympathetically.
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