'I don't care to talk with you any more at present, Polly,' said Mrs.
Winship. 'I am too hurt and too indignant to speak of your conduct
quietly. I know the struggles you have with your temper, and I am
quite willing to sympathise with you even when you do not come off
victorious; but this is something quite different. I can't conceive
how any amount of provocation or dislike could have led you into such
disloyalty to me'; and with this she walked away.
Polly staggered into a little play-room tent of Dicky's, where she
knew that she could be alone, pinned the curtains together so that no
one could peep in, and threw herself down upon the long cushioned
seat where Dicky was wont to take his afternoon nap. There, in grief
and despair, she sobbed the afternoon through, dreading to be
disturbed and dreading to be questioned.
'My beautiful birthday spoiled,' she moaned, 'and all my own fault!
I was so happy this morning, but now was ever anybody so miserable as
I? And even if I tell Aunt Truth what Laura said, she will think it
no excuse, and it isn't!'
As it neared supper-time she made an opening in the back of the tent,
and after long watching caught sight of Gin on his way to the brook
for water, signalled him, and gave him this despairing little note
for Mrs. Winship:-
Dear Aunt Truth,--I don't ask you to forgive me--I don't deserve to
be forgiven--but I ask you to do me just one more of your dear little
kindnesses.
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