You
see you are sailing for Ireland in a few weeks and we are going to live
in the woods and be taken care of by our old mother earth and our
father, the sun," Polly replied dramatically.
"You are talking nonsense, Polly; please don't be tiresome any more
to-night," Mrs. O'Neill urged, lying down on the sofa again, as though
she were too weary to be up another minute. "I can't discuss the matter
with you, but Mr. Wharton has been too kind for me to refuse him this
request."
Betty found her blue cloak again and softly slipped over to kiss the
older woman good-night. "Don't worry, what Polly told you is true, but
Sylvia shall be looked after just the same."
She slipped away, Polly following to watch her safely across the street
as she always did. Outdoors the girls stood silent for a moment looking
up at the beauty of the night. The stars were shining and the warmth
the day had failed to bring to the earth had been followed by some
unseen messenger of the night.
"You are going to include that hateful child in your Camp Fire Club
after what I said to you, Betty?" Polly whispered. "Oh, if only her
name wasn't Sylvia and she didn't have a snub nose and wear goggles I
could forgive her. But think how absurd the combination is! Anyhow you
are a dear, and it must be because I am Irish that I am always in the
wrong.
Pages:
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49