We
were going to rehearse part of the play, and--"
"That will do, Polly," interrupted Aunt Jane stonily; "you needn't
say any more about it. Go and get me a glass of water. Solo--Mr.
Baxter, wouldn't you like some, too?"
"Calls him Solo--Mr. Baxter, does she!" remarked Alan, as the door
closed behind the culprits. "Depend on it, Poll, there's something
up in that quarter."
"I wonder if there is," said Polly. "I'm sorry for him, if it's
true. But, Alan, think of our rushing in on them, looking like a
pair of heathen, and that song and all! How could we!"
CHAPTER XIV.
POLLY'S DARK DAY.
The next Monday noon, Polly stood on the top of a tall step-
ladder, with the hose in her hand, washing off the parlor blinds.
It was a warm, clear day, so warm that there was no possible
discomfort in her work, and yet Polly was in a state of great
disgust over her present employment. If it had been the back
blinds, even! But to Polly, it seemed that her position on the
ladder, within full view of the street, was extremely undignified,
and she had protested vigorously when her mother sent her out.
"It won't take but a few minutes, Polly," Mrs. Adams had said;
"and they need it badly.
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