gh that followed.

"Bobby," she said as they were taking off their coats in the hall, "I'm
ashamed of being such a baby to-day. I acted as if I were eight years
old."

Bob pulled a big wadded handkerchief out of one of his pockets. "Don't
apologize, Poll," he said. "Look at this. I wasn't so very grown up
myself." Then he added, gently, "Good old Sandy."

CHAPTER XIII

POLLY'S LETTER

Polly and Lois left for Fanny's the following Thursday and arrived the
day before the dance. A description of their good time can best be
gotten by reading Polly's letter to Betty, which was written a few days
after:

"Dearest Betty:

"What a shame you couldn't be here. I know it's mean to tell you,
but you've really missed the funniest kind of a time.

"I do hope your mother is much better by now. Please give her both
Lois' and my love.

"And now to tell you all about the dance--as I promised. So many
things happened it's hard to know where to begin. The first day I
guess--

"Well, we arrived at this adorable little town about ten o'clock
in the morning, and I thought when I looked out of our window as
the train pulled in, that I was dreaming and it was a story book
village. The sun was shining and it was as warm as toast. I don't
know why the fact that the grass was green made such an impression
on me, but it did. We've had so much snow up home that I couldn't
believe there could be summer anywhere else.

"Is this lengthy description boring you, Betty dear? What is it
Miss Porter always says, 'Create your atmosphere first, before you
begin your story.' That's what I'm doing and you'll just have to
be patient while I create a little longer. I simply must tell you
about the funny little cabins. They're all over the place. A relic
from the days of slavery, I suppose, and they're so little--just a
room or two--that you gasp when you see large families standing
out in front of them. It's beyond me to figure out how they can
all go to sleep at once.

"Lois suggests that they take turns and I think she must be right.
The little pickaninnies are too sweet for words; they have
innumerable little braids sticking out all over their heads, and
their big black eyes just dance with impishness. You'd love them.

"Fanny lives in a most wonderful story book house. It's red brick
th