holding up the lamp, she gazed at herself steadily, unconscious of
the picture she made, with the light falling full upon her bright
hair and eager young face. Then she set down the lamp with a
suddenness which threatened to shatter it.

"Oh, you fright!" she said to herself, in a tone of disgusted
sincerity.

She turned away and took up the bowl from the table, sniffed at it
daintily, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. The strong, sour odor
of the buttermilk was not pleasant, certainly, but what mattered
that, if it removed the obnoxious freckles? She shut her teeth,
held her breath, and resolutely applied it to her face, putting it
on freely, and rubbing it in until her arms ached and her cheeks
burned under their unwonted treatment. The next morning she
repeated the operation with even greater zeal, and ended by a
vigorous application of soap and water, and a rough towel. Then
she drew near the glass once more, to see and admire her soft,
white skin, where no freckle would be found. As she gazed, her
eyes grew round with wonder, and she stood as if transfixed at the
sight before her. To say the least, it was striking. The freckles
had not disappeared, but still the buttermilk had done its work,
and Polly's face presented every appearance of having been
varnished, for, thanks to the polishing which it had undergone, it
shone like a new copper tea-kettle. For an instant, tears of
mortification stood in the gray eyes; then Polly's sense of the
ridiculous had its way, and, dropping into a chair, she laughed
till her cheeks were crimson under their metallic surface, and her
lashes were damp with hysterical tears.