eard her say to one of the girls:
'Polly's bravery is so awfully evident, that it almost looks like
showing off,' and when Dorothy Lansing said: 'I think so, too,' I simply
couldn't help laughing. It was so like the Dorothys."

"Who were they talking to?" Polly asked, indifferently.

Connie smiled at a sudden recollection.

"A girl named Eleanor Trent. She was furious. She told them they were
jealous cats. Imagine!"

Polly smiled grimly. "Eleanor Trent is on my team; she naturally would
resent it. Hasn't Ange told you about the fuss yesterday, with the
Dorothys?"

"No; what happened!" Connie was interested immediately. She felt this
was a personal matter of her class. For the minute, she completely
forgot she was only a visitor.

Polly described the scene on the hill--

"Three cheers for Betty!" Connie laughed, heartily. "I can just imagine
her rage. But what is the matter with this Fanny!" she asked.

"Nobody knows." Polly shook her head. "We hurt her feelings early in the
year, and I don't think she's ever forgiven us. I'm sorry, too; she's a
dandy girl, if she'd only forget the chip on her shoulder."

"Going with the Dorothys won't help," Connie said, slowly.

"I know, but what can we do? Warn her that too much association with our
classmates will not improve her disposition?" Polly unthinkingly
imitated Miss Hale's manner.

"The Spartan," Connie laughed. "You might take Fanny up yourselves," she
suggested.

"We might," Polly said, thoughtfully; "oh, there's the bell!"

Study hour was over, and a minute later, Lois, Betty, and Angela came
in. There was an air of mystery about them, and Betty said: "Then you'll
attend to it, Lo?"

"No; Miss Crosby's going to. I've just come from the studio," Lois
answered, as she walked over to her bureau.

"Attend to what?" Polly demanded.

"Nothing!" Angela assured her. "Lo and Betty are fussing over some art
secret."

"Oh, well, what's the news?"

"News?" Betty said, wearily. "Why, haven't you heard? Last night a girl
hero stopped two rearing, plunging--"

"Betty, if you say one word more," Polly protested feebly--she was
laughing in spite of herself.

"Hello, what's this?" Lois had been straightening Polly's dresser and
discovered a note beside the pin cushion. "It's for you, Poll." She
tossed it on the bed. "Must have been here since last night."

Polly opened and read it.

"Oh, what next?" she groaned. "Listen to this: 'To the captain of the
basket