"Did
you ever try anything for it, Poll?"
"No, only lemon juice once, and it all ran into my eyes and made
them smart; but it didn't touch the freckles any."
"They say buttermilk is good," suggested Molly. "Why not try
that?"
"That's a good idea," said Polly. "We have some, and I don't
believe it would hurt. How do you use it, Molly? I'll do it to-
night, and then I could start white with your cousins, anyway; and
so much depends on first impressions, you know."
"I'm not just sure about it," answered Molly; "but I think they
put it on over night, and rub it in well. You'd better not do it,
if you are afraid it can do any harm."
"Oh, it can't," said Polly, with assurance; "and even if it does,
anything is better than looking like a fright."
"But you aren't a fright," said Molly loyally; then added, "What
does keep Alan so? His errand wasn't going to take two minutes,
and your mother will be tired of him."
"No, she won't," said Polly; "she likes Alan. Don't be in a hurry,
Molly; this is the last chance we shall have to talk for a year."
In spite of herself, Polly's voice failed a little on the last
words. She loved her friend dearly, and the coming of the cousins,
with the probability of its causing a separation between them, had
been her first real sorrow.
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