"People will
think you're crazy, if you act so."
"Well, what if they do?" said Polly, laughing. "I don't care what
they think, I wanted to astonish those hens. Shoo!" And she
charged upon them again, brandishing a dry stick which she had
picked up by the roadside.
In spite of herself Molly laughed as she clutched her friend
firmly by the elbow and dragged her onward, out of temptation's
way.
"You'll have the jailer and the fire department out after you,"
she said, as she guided Polly's erring footsteps back into the
concrete path of virtue. "Do come along! Besides, you had
something to tell me."
Polly's face grew suddenly grave, and the hot blood rushed to her
cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was trembling with suppressed
excitement.
"Wait till we get out on the bridge, Molly," she begged. "We'll be
all alone there."
So it wasn't the new coat, after all. Molly's brow cleared.
"How queer you are, Polly!" she said. "I can't stand it to wait, I
am so wild to know. Come on, let's have a race to the bridge,
then."
"But you just said I mustn't run," protested Polly, hanging back.
"Not after hens, when the owner is looking on," answered Molly;
"but it's our own affair, if we want to run a race.
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