so much depends on first impressions, you know."

"I'm not just sure about it," answered Molly; "but I think they
put it on over night, and rub it in well. You'd better not do it,
if you are afraid it can do any harm."

"Oh, it can't," said Polly, with assurance; "and even if it does,
anything is better than looking like a fright."

"But you aren't a fright," said Molly loyally; then added, "What
does keep Alan so? His errand wasn't going to take two minutes,
and your mother will be tired of him."

"No, she won't," said Polly; "she likes Alan. Don't be in a hurry,
Molly; this is the last chance we shall have to talk for a year."

In spite of herself, Polly's voice failed a little on the last
words. She loved her friend dearly, and the coming of the cousins,
with the probability of its causing a separation between them, had
been her first real sorrow. For Molly's sake she tried to be eager
and interested about them, but when she was alone with Jean or
Alan, she was disconsolate enough over the prospect. The three or
four weeks had flown past, every day bringing the change nearer,
and the last evening had come. Arm in arm, the two girls had been
pacing up and down the walk, while they waited for Alan, and that
half-hour had made Polly realize more than ever how fond she was
of this companion with whom she had spent so many contented hours.
The memory of their frequent quarrels seemed to sink away into the
past, and only the thought of their good times was before them
then. But Alan's whistle was heard, as he came out of the house;