"Why, you aren't so bad, Polly." And Molly surveyed her with frank
criticism. "If only your nose wasn't quite so puggy, and you
didn't have quite so many freckles, you'd be real good-looking.
Besides, Alan says he likes your looks better than he does
Florence's."

"Does he?" And Polly flushed with pleasure.

"Yes, he told mamma so the other day; you know boys have queer
tastes," answered Molly flatteringly.

"But I wish I did know of something to take off freckles and tan,"
said Polly, rubbing her cheeks with a vicious force. "Aunt Jane
wants me to wear a veil and keep white; but I'd rather be black
and speckled all over, than make a mummy of myself. I think fresh
air and sunshine were made to be enjoyed, and not to be peeked out
at through a rag."

"It must be horrid to freckle," said Molly sympathetically. "Did
you ever try anything for it, Poll?"

"No, only lemon juice once, and it all ran into my eyes and made
them smart; but it didn't touch the freckles any."

"They say buttermilk is good," suggested Molly. "Why not try
that?"

"That's a good idea," said Polly. "We have some, and I don't
believe it would hurt. How do you use it, Molly? I'll do it to-
night, and then I could start white with your cousins, anyway; and