The graceful, brown-haired girl with the bright, laughter-loving
face, was Bell Winship. She of the dancing blue eyes, pink cheeks,
and reckless little sun-bonnet was Pauline, otherwise Polly Oliver.
Did you ever know a Polly without some one of these things? Well, my
Polly had them all, and, besides, a saucy freckled nose, a crown of
fluffy, reddish-yellow hair, and a shower of coaxing little pitfalls
called dimples round her pretty mouth. She made you think of a
sunbeam, a morning songbird, a dancing butterfly, or an impetuous
little crocus just out after the first spring shower. Dislike her?
You couldn't. Approve of her? You wouldn't always. Love her? Of
course; you couldn't help yourself,--I defy you.
To be sure, if you prefer a quiet life, and do not want to be led
into exploits of all kinds, invariably beginning with risk, attended
with danger, and culminating in despair, you had better not engage in
an intimate friendship with Miss Pauline Oliver, but fix your
affections on the quiet, thoughtful, but not less lovable girl who
sits by the bedside stroking Elsie Howard's thin white hand.
Nevertheless, I am obliged to state that Margery Noble herself,
earnest, demure, and given to reflection, was Polly's willing slave
and victim. However, I've forgotten to tell you that Polly was as
open and frank as the daylight, at once torrid and constant in her
affections, brave, self-forgetting as well as self-willed; and that
though she did have a tongue just the least bit saucy, she used it
valiantly in the defence of others.
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