“And all you’ve got to do,” said Polly, severely, to herself, “is to stop wanting to run outdoors morning, noon, and night, and wanting to play with a doll, and wishing somebody’d call you Polly, and not mind having to eat so much, or lying down on this bed that gets so hot in the afternoon, and stop being lonesome for the folks at Manser Farm, and learn how to mend your clothes. I guess that’s about all, and it isn’t much for a girl that’s going on eleven.” Polly had a delightful time that afternoon. Arctura had taken in the snow-white clothes from the line, and informed the little girl that she had no intention of ironing that day, and would make an excursion into the woods with her. “I’ve got a crick in my back,” Miss Green announced, when Polly descended from her hour on the bed, “and what I need is to get right down close to nature. I’ll take my old gray shawl and pick me out a good place to sit in the sun, and I’ll knit on Hiram’s socks while you run around and see what you can see. Perhaps you can get up a bouquet to fetch home to Miss Hetty, who knows? And when you feel so minded you can sit on the shawl alongside of me, and read me out a story, maybe. It’s a pity Miss Hetty can’t be with us, but she’s no hand to walk; she hasn’t been overly strong for ten years back, though she can do all that’s required.” Polly felt disloyal to Miss Pomeroy, because it was a relief to know Arctura would be her only companion. Her little heart was full of affectionate gratitude, but the tall mistress of the house inspired a good deal of awe as well, while with Arctura Polly had a sense of comradeship, in spite of the difference in years, and was not afraid to chatter like a magpie. By three o’clock the pair were deep in the woods, and Arctura was enthroned on her gray shawl, spread on a rock that stood like a table in an open space between giant pines. She had four knitting-needles and a ball of flaming red yarn in her hands, and looked the picture of contentment. “Now,” she said, drawing out a big silver watch from the front of her gown, and placing it beside her on the shawl, “it’s only a few minutes past three. You lay your book down here and don’t let me see you again for an hour, or as near that as you can judge by your feelings. Don’t stray so far you can’t get back. I’ll holler once in awhile so’s to keep track of you, but you caper round and see what you find.”