It was a clear, bracing day, so cold that the white frost was still glittering on the grass-blades in the more sheltered corners, so clear that the bare, rough ledges of the western mountain looked so near that one could toss a stone up to the pile of broken rocks which marked the line of their bases; while far across the river valley, the sun lay warm upon the roofs and towers of the town nestling on the hillside, and touched with a golden light the tall, slender spire of the little church. The girls walked briskly away through the town and out towards the river, a mile away. Polly appeared to be unusually excited, whether by the crisp air or by her new winter coat, Molly was at a loss to decide. It was a fine day, surely; but the more Molly studied the long dark-blue coat trimmed with chinchilla, and the saucy little blue cap edged with the same soft fur, and cocked on the back of Polly's curls, she came to the conclusion that Polly's spirits were affected by her becoming suit. That being the case, it was plainly her duty to remove Polly's worldly pride. "Do try to walk like a civilized being, Polly!" she exclaimed, as her friend suddenly pounced into the midst of a flock of hens that were pluming themselves in a sunny fence-corner. "People will think you're crazy, if you act so." "Well, what if they do?" said Polly, laughing. "I don't care what they think, I wanted to astonish those hens. Shoo!" And she charged upon them again, brandishing a dry stick which she had picked up by the roadside. In spite of herself Molly laughed as she clutched her friend firmly by the elbow and dragged her onward, out of temptation's way. "You'll have the jailer and the fire department out after you," she said, as she guided Polly's erring footsteps back into the concrete path of virtue. "Do come along! Besides, you had something to tell me." Polly's face grew suddenly grave, and the hot blood rushed to her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was trembling with suppressed excitement. "Wait till we get out on the bridge, Molly," she begged. "We'll be all alone there." So it wasn't the new coat, after all. Molly's brow cleared. "How queer you are, Polly!" she said. "I can't stand it to wait, I am so wild to know. Come on, let's have a race to the bridge, then." "But you just said I mustn't run," protested Polly, hanging back. "Not after hens, when the owner is looking on," answered Molly; "but it's our own affair, if we want to run a race. Come on."