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Ray, Anna Chapin, 1865-1945

"Half a Dozen Girls"

At
length Polly started up.
"Come, girls," said she; "I can't stand this any longer. We may as
well say good night now, for it won't be any easier by and by."
"Oh, why did you girls ever come here and make us so fond of you,
and then have to go and leave us!" wailed Jean. "I wish you hadn't
come in the first place."
"I don't," said Polly steadily; "I'm glad I've had just this one
year of knowing you. It's ever so much better than nothing, and
I'm thankful even for this. Besides," she added, valiantly
brushing away the tears, "I don't mean to cry yet, for we have all
day to-morrow, and Tuesday morning; and then, you'll come back
again some day. When you are gone is time enough to do the
crying." And smiling resolutely, she bade them good night, then
went away up the street, with the tears running down her cheeks.
"Come, Alan," said Katharine, early the next morning; "come down
to the post-office with me. My letter from home must be here by
this time, and I'm in a hurry to get it, to see if papa is going
to come for us. It takes Jessie so long to get ready, that we
won't wait for her."
They walked away together, laughing and talking as they went,
determined to forget the morrow, and only enjoy the bright,
beautiful morning and their pleasure in each other's society.


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