Mrs. Puddicombe’s broad face reddened under her amazing labyrinth of screwlike curls.

“These charity people,” she resumed irrelevantly, “never know when they’re well off.  Why, this Home is the very gate of heaven!  Just look at that new rug in the library—­it cost three hundred dollars!  But who appreciates it?”

“Well, I should rather walk over a thirty-cent rug than every time I turned round have to have a rule to turn by!” Polly tossed out the words impetuously.

“You’re a saucy girl!” returned Mrs. Puddicombe.  “You’d better go home and tell your father to teach you good manners.”  The president rapped for order.

“I beg your pardon, if I was saucy,” Polly hastened to say.  “I didn’t mean to be.  I was only thinking—­”

“That will do,” interrupted Mrs. Beers.  “There has been too much time given to a very trivial matter.”

Polly walked away from the June Holiday Home in the company of uneasy thoughts.  She feared she had made matters worse for her dear Miss Nita.

CHAPTER IV

A JUNE HOLIDAY

The wedding night brought no recall of the negative answer which Miss Sniffen had given to Juanita Sterling, although the little woman hoped until the last moment for some sign of relenting.

But Polly was on hand to braid the thick, soft hair into a becoming coronet, and to assert that she knew the bride wouldn’t look half so pretty.

Several days after, Polly danced in, her face full of the morning.

“You feel pretty well, don’t you?” she began in her most coaxing way.

“A little better than usual,” Miss Sterling laughed.  “What do you want me to do?”

“You know David and Leonora and I went down to Fern Brook last week,” Polly began deliberately, seating herself in the rocker which Miss Sterling did not like, “and ever since then I’ve been wishing it would come a lovely day for you and me to have a little picnic all by ourselves.  Or we might ask one or two others, if you like.  Will you, Miss Nita?  You’ll break my heart if you say no—­I see it coming!  Just say, ‘I should be de-e-lighted to go!’”

“Oh, I’d love to, but—­”

“No, there isn’t a ‘but’ or an ‘if’ or anything!  We’re going!  Who else do you want?”

“You crazy child!  I’m afraid it will use me up.  I don’t dare risk it.  We’ll have to take the trolley—­and the walk across lots—­oh, I can’t, Polly!”

“Yes, you’re going!  I’ve made up my mind!  The trolley ride won’t hurt you; you’ll have nothing to do but to sit still, and the walk isn’t long.”

“Remember, I haven’t been off the grounds, except for the wedding, in months.”

“I don’t forget, and it’s awful.  You felt better the day after the wedding.”

“Ye-s, but—­”

“We’re going!  It’s decided!” Polly jumped up.  “Say quick who we’ll invite, and then I’ll run down and beg permission to go on a picnic—­unless you’d rather.”