Half a Dozen Girls Part 8

"Why, you aren't so bad, Polly." And Molly surveyed her with frank criticism. "If only your nose wasn't quite so puggy, and you didn't have quite so many freckles, you'd be real good-looking.

Besides, Alan says he likes your looks better than he does Florence's."

"Does he?" And Polly flushed with pleasure.

"Yes, he told mamma so the other day; you know boys have queer tastes," answered Molly flatteringly.

"But I wish I did know of something to take off freckles and tan,"

said Polly, rubbing her cheeks with a vicious force. "Aunt Jane wants me to wear a veil and keep white; but I'd rather be black and speckled all over, than make a mummy of myself. I think fresh air and suns.h.i.+ne were made to be enjoyed, and not to be peeked out at through a rag."

"It must be horrid to freckle," said Molly sympathetically. "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 b.u.t.termilk 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 a.s.surance; "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. For Molly's sake she tried to be eager and interested about them, but when she was alone with Jean or Alan, she was disconsolate enough over the prospect. The three or four weeks had flown past, every day bringing the change nearer, and the last evening had come. Arm in arm, the two girls had been pacing up and down the walk, while they waited for Alan, and that half-hour had made Polly realize more than ever how fond she was of this companion with whom she had spent so many contented hours.

The memory of their frequent quarrels seemed to sink away into the past, and only the thought of their good times was before them then. But Alan's whistle was heard, as he came out of the house; and he and Molly went away down the street, leaving Polly standing alone at the gate. She looked after them until they disappeared in the gathering darkness; then her curly head dropped on her folded arms, and she began to sob with all the fervor of her impetuous, affectionate nature. It was over in a minute or two, and no one was the wiser for it but the birds in the tall elm trees above her head. Then she turned forlornly, and started to walk to the house; but, with Polly, the reaction always came quickly, and by the time she reached the steps, she was humming the air which Alan had just whistled, as she planned about the gown she would wear when she went to see the cousins, and pictured to herself the details of their first meeting. It was all so like Polly, to be in the depths of grief at one moment, and to be singing the next. Her sorrows were just as sincere as Molly's, while they lasted, but the very intensity of them made it impossible for them to continue long at a time. Polly's life was one of superlatives: when she was happy, she was radiant; when she was unhappy, she was miserable. There was no middle ground for her.

But to-night Polly was bent on beautifying herself. For Molly's sake, as well as for her own, she was anxious to make a good appearance in the eyes of the two girls whom she was to meet on the morrow. The last thing before she went to her room, she secretly visited the kitchen and helped herself to a generous bowl of b.u.t.termilk, which she carried up stairs. She set it down on the table and, lamp in hand, went to the mirror. In the main, Polly was not a conceited girl, nor a vain one. On the contrary, she thought little about her personal appearance, except to give an occasional sigh over her hair and freckles. But, just now, it seemed to her that beauty was the one thing to be desired, and holding up the lamp, she gazed at herself steadily, unconscious of the picture she made, with the light falling full upon her bright hair and eager young face. Then she set down the lamp with a suddenness which threatened to shatter it.

"Oh, you fright!" she said to herself, in a tone of disgusted sincerity.

She turned away and took up the bowl from the table, sniffed at it daintily, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. The strong, sour odor of the b.u.t.termilk was not pleasant, certainly, but what mattered that, if it removed the obnoxious freckles? She shut her teeth, held her breath, and resolutely applied it to her face, putting it on freely, and rubbing it in until her arms ached and her cheeks burned under their unwonted treatment. The next morning she repeated the operation with even greater zeal, and ended by a vigorous application of soap and water, and a rough towel. Then she drew near the gla.s.s once more, to see and admire her soft, white skin, where no freckle would be found. As she gazed, her eyes grew round with wonder, and she stood as if transfixed at the sight before her. To say the least, it was striking. The freckles had not disappeared, but still the b.u.t.termilk had done its work, and Polly's face presented every appearance of having been varnished, for, thanks to the polis.h.i.+ng which it had undergone, it shone like a new copper tea-kettle. For an instant, tears of mortification stood in the gray eyes; then Polly's sense of the ridiculous had its way, and, dropping into a chair, she laughed till her cheeks were crimson under their metallic surface, and her lashes were damp with hysterical tears.

"What in the world are you laughing at, Polly?" asked Aunt Jane's voice at her door. "The breakfast bell has rung, and it's time you were down-stairs."

"Yes'm," replied Polly, suddenly becoming sober again, as she remembered that she must present herself to the family in this plight, and would probably be well laughed at for her pains.

She delayed in her room as long as she dared, but her mother had always insisted on perfect regularity at meal times, and Polly knew that she must appear. With one last, despairing glance at the mirror, a glance which was by no means rea.s.suring, she turned away and silently went down the stairs and into the dining-room, hoping to take her place at the table so quietly that she could escape notice. It was not her mother whom she dreaded, but she shrank from her father's teasing and Aunt Jane's merciless comments. As she drew her chair up to the table, Aunt Jane glanced up from her oatmeal.

"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 b.u.t.termilk. Why?"

"Why?" responded Aunt Jane, with needless emphasis, "I should think you'd better ask why! Have you looked in the gla.s.s 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 p.a.w.nee?"

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 b.u.t.termilk 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."

Polly was interrupted by a hearty laugh from the doctor, who laid down his knife and fork and leaned back in his chair, to enjoy his merriment to the utmost.

"I think there's no doubt of their being struck by your looks, Polly," he said at length. Then, as he saw her bite her lips to steady them, he added kindly, "Shall I tell my little girl what I really think about it? I don't consider the freckles themselves beautiful; but I would rather see her with enough of them to prove that she lives out of doors in the suns.h.i.+ne, as every healthy child should, than be one of the little, pale-faced beauties brought up in the house, or under veils and broad hats. If I can't have but one, I want my Polly to have health rather than beauty, for health is beauty, especially in children."

"Better have a freckled face than a freckled soul," added Aunt Jane, feeling that here was the opportunity to make a fine moral point.

"There's more connection there than you think, Jane," responded Dr. Adams quickly. "A child is much more likely to have an unfreckled, unspotted soul, when her body has the health which comes with plenty of exposure to the air and sun. Show me a healthy child, and a small amount of care will make her a good one; I'm not so sure of the sickly ones. It's my opinion that more can be made of a healthy sinner than a feeble saint. Isn't it so, Poll?" And he leaned over to pa.s.s his broad hand caressingly down the s.h.i.+ning face, as he added gaily, "There's one good thing about it, my dear; we shan't have to waste any gas to-night. The light of your countenance will be quite enough."

They were still sitting lingering over their meal, when Alan came in to bring a note from Molly. At sight of Polly, he started back in mock dismay, exclaiming,--

"Great Scott, Polly! What's the matter?"

"Don't tell Molly, Alan," she begged; "but I tried to get rid of my freckles, that's all."

Alan gave a low, expressive whistle.

"I'm glad it's nothing worse. We had a girl once, that told Molly if she let the moon s.h.i.+ne on her while she was asleep, she'd all swell up and turn black, and I didn't know but you were beginning to do that."

"I thought you had given up slang, Alan," remarked Mrs. Adams, as she motioned him to a chair beside her.

"So I have, mostly. Mother didn't want me to use much, and I couldn't get along without any; so we split the difference and agreed that I could have one. I chose 'great Scott,' but it doesn't always fit the case. I say, Polly, you'll be over to- night, won't you?"

Polly looked doubtfully at her mother.

"Isn't it rather soon, Alan?" Mrs. Adams asked.

"Not a bit of it," answered the boy. "Mother will be busy with Uncle Henry, because he'll only be here one night, and we'll have to see to the girls. Molly can't manage them both, and I'm no use at all, so we need Polly to help us out. Mother said you'd better come over about five, Poll, and stay to supper."

"I don't know whether I can get bleached in time," answered Polly, laughing, as she followed him to the door; "but I'll come if I can. And don't you dare tell Molly."

"Catch me telling tales!" returned Alan, with some dignity.

"That's not in my line, Poll; and not on you, anyway."

With an appearance of great carelessness, Polly strolled out to the hammock soon after two o'clock that afternoon, and settled herself, book in hand. But for the next hour, there was little reading done, for Polly's gray eyes often wandered from the pages before her, and fixed themselves on the distant corner around which the Shepard family must come. It was a long hour of waiting, and Polly had begun to think that the train must have been wrecked by the way, when the distant, shrill whistle was heard. At the sound, she drew herself into a more dignified position, settled her skirts about her and fell to reading with a will. But though her eyes went down the left-hand page and up again to the top of the right-hand one, she could not have told so much as the t.i.tle of the book, so absorbed was she in listening for the wheels that would pa.s.s the house. She heard them drawing near, but continued to be lost in her reading until just as the carriage was in front of her. Then she glanced up, as if by accident, and was filled with confusion to see Alan leaning down from his seat on the box and pointing at her, while two broad hats and two girl faces were bent forward to survey her curiously. Alan waved his cap; she answered his salute, and the carriage went swiftly on, leaving Polly to stare at the pile of trunks strapped on behind it, with a vague feeling that her intended effect had been a little marred by Alan's demonstration.

"Served me right, though!" she remarked philosophically to herself, as she curled herself up to read in earnest, now that her excitement was over. "I needn't have tried to pose for them; that sort of thing doesn't suit me; I'd better leave it to Florence."

It was with some misgiving, that Polly, two hours later, started to take the familiar walk to the Hapgood house. Every riotous curl was brushed until it lay close to her small head, but already the golden ends were doing their best to break loose once more; thanks to her mother's efforts, her burnished skin had lost a little of its coppery l.u.s.tre; and her fresh blue and white gingham gown was as dainty and trim as loving hands could make it. But Polly, as she looked in the gla.s.s before starting, only saw that her hair was red, and that her freckles would insist on showing. However, Alan's compliment came to her relief, and she dismissed the question of her looks with a smile, as something not worth a thought, and ran off down-stairs to say good by to her mother.