"I suppose so," said Polly, with a reluctant little sigh, as they went off.
And that afternoon, there was another narrow escape, when it seemed as if the secret really must pop out. Polly, rushing along to the reading room opposite the big dining room, saw Mother Fisher in consultation with the head waiter, and he was saying "cake," and then he stopped suddenly, and Mrs. Fisher turned and saw her. And Mamsie came across the hall, and into the reading room, and sat there a bit, while Polly tossed off a letter to Alexia Rhys, that had been worrying her for days. And there was a funny little smile tucked away in the corners of Mother Fisher's mouth, and Polly thought that things were getting queerer than ever.
"I am glad you are writing that letter," said Mrs. Fisher, with an approving smile that chased the funny little one all around the strongly curved mouth, "for Alexia will feel badly not to hear often from you, Polly."
"I know it," said Polly, wrinkling her brows, "and I didn't mean to let this wait so long," scribbling away as fast as she could.
"Take care, Polly," warned her mother; "a carelessly written letter is no compliment, and it gets you in a bad way. Don't hurry so, child," as Polly's pen went scratching across the paper at a fearful rate.
"But there are so many letters to write to all the girls," said Polly, stopping a minute to look at her mother, "and I've only just got all the letters in my steamer mail-bag answered. I _must_ write to Cathie and Philena, and Amy Garrett too, to-day, Mamsie," she added, in distress.
"Polly," said Mother Fisher, looking into the flushed face, "I tell you what would be the best way for you to do. All the letters in your mail-bag are answered, you said?"
"Yes, indeed," declared Polly. "Oh, Mamsie, you didn't think I could put those off?" she asked reproachfully.
"No, Polly, I really didn't," Mrs. Fisher made haste to assure her. "Well, now, mother will tell you what will be the best way for you to do. Write as good a letter as you can to Alexia, and tell her to send it around to all the girls, for a kind of a bulletin, and--"
"Oh, Mamsie Fisher," cried Polly, not stopping to hear the rest, but deserting the writing table to run and throw her arms around her mother's neck, "you're the bestest, dearest mother in all this world--oh--oh! Now I sha'n't have but one letter to write! How fine!"