"Late again, Polly! Why, what have you been putting on your face,
child?"
Polly's cheeks grew scarlet, but she answered, with an attempt at
carelessness,--
"Oh, nothing but a little buttermilk. Why?"
"Why?" responded Aunt Jane, with needless emphasis, "I should
think you'd better ask why! Have you looked in the glass this
morning?"
"Yes," answered Polly faintly, for they were all staring at her,
and she saw a mischievous twinkle come into her father's blue
eyes.
"Well, I'd like to know what fresh piece of nonsense this is,"
Aunt Jane was beginning severely, when the doctor interposed,--
"Wait a minute, Jane; don't be in such a hurry to scold. Come,
Polly, tell us what you have been doing to make yourself look like
a South Sea Islander or a Pawnee?"
Polly dropped her eyes and played with her fork for a minute; but
sulkiness was not in her nature, and after a pause, she confessed.
"Molly said buttermilk was good for freckles, so I put some on
mine, but they didn't come off. You see," she added, turning to
her mother with the certainty that she would find sympathy in that
quarter, if in no other, "the Shepard girls are coming to-day, and
Molly wanted me to go over to see them right away, and I wanted to
look as well as I can.
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