around.

"And can't I help you unpack?" asked Polly, longing to do something.

"No," said Cathie, remembering her plain clothes and lack of the pretty
trifles that girls delight in; then seeing Polly's face, she thought
better of it. "Yes, you may," she said suddenly.

So Polly unstrapped the bag, and drew out the clothes, all packed very
neatly. "Why, Cathie Harrison!" she exclaimed suddenly.

"What?" asked Cathie, hanging up her jacket in the closet, and putting
her head around the door.

"Oh, what a lovely thing!" Polly held up a little carved box of Chinese
workmanship.

"Isn't it?" cried Cathie, well pleased that she had anything worthy of
notice. "My uncle brought that from China to my mother when she was a
little girl, and she gave it to me."

"Well, it's too lovely for anything," declared Polly, running to put it
on the toilet table. "I do think Chinese carvings are so pretty!"

"Do you?" cried Cathie, well pleased. "My mother has some really fine
ones, I'll show you sometime, if you'd like to see them, Polly."

"Indeed, I should," said Polly warmly. So Cathie, delighted that she
really had something that could interest Polly Pepper, hurried through
her preparations; and then the two went downstairs arm in arm, and out
to the greenhouse.

"Polly Pepper!" exclaimed Cathie on the threshold, "I don't think I
should ever envy you living in that perfectly beautiful house, because
it just scares me to set foot in it."

"Well, it needn't," said Polly, with a little laugh. "You must just
forget all about its being big and splendid."

"But I can't," said Cathie, surprised at herself for being so
communicative, "because, you see, I live in such a little, tucked-up
place."

"Well, so did I," said Polly, with a bob of her brown head, "before we
came here to Grandpapa's; but oh, you can't think how beautiful it was
in the little brown house--you can't begin to think, Cathie Harrison!"

"I know," said Cathie, who had heard the story before. "I wish you'd
tell it all to me now, Polly."

"I couldn't tell it all, if I talked a year, I guess," said Polly
merrily, "and there is Turner waiting to speak to me. Come on, Cathie."
And she ran down the long aisle between the fragrant blossoms.

But Cathie stopped to look and exclaim so often to herself that she made
slow progress.

"Shall I make her up a bunch, Miss Mary?" asked old Turner, touching his
cap respectfully, and looking at the visitor.

"Oh, if you pl