Creative Books

Indeed, she
was so shocked, when Polly, one day, proposed a run down the
mall, that her friend never dared suggest such a thing again. At
home, Polly ran and rode, coasted and skated, jumped rope and
raked hay, worked in her garden and rowed her boat; so no wonder
she longed for something more lively than a daily promenade with
a flock of giddy girls, who tilted along in high-heeled boots, and
costumes which made Polly ashamed to be seen with some of
them. So she used to slip out alone sometimes, when Fanny was
absorbed in novels, company, or millinery, and get fine brisk walks
round the park, on the unfashionable side, where the babies took
their airings; or she went inside, to watch the boys coasting, and to
wish she could coast too, as she did at home. She never went far,
and always came back rosy and gay.
One afternoon, just before dinner, she felt so tired of doing
nothing, that she slipped out for a run. It had been a dull day; but
the sun was visible now, setting brightly below the clouds.


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