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so fat!” giggled Polly.
    Aunt Jean and Uncle Rand came for dinner as usual.
They
asked about school, but Polly tried to divert their questions by quizzing them about what had been happening on the island.
    “Well!” said Aunt Jean. “You won’t believe this, but Mildred Cunningham had a dress made in Vancouver and it fastens at the side with a zipper! Zippers are fine on galoshes, but not on a dress. I can’t believe she’d go in for such a fad. I told her it would never stay shut and she was only setting herself up for an embarrassing situation, but of course she won’t listen to me.”
    Polly grinned. Nothing had changed; Aunt Jean and Mrs. Cunningham had been rivals since they were girls.
    “She’ll be the next to get one—wait and see,” whispered Uncle Rand to Polly as Aunt Jean was taking out the plates. “Now, tell me what subjects you’re studying.”
    Polly sighed, but she had to be polite. She recited all her subjects.
    “So many new things to learn,” said Uncle Rand. “It makes me wish I were starting school all over again.”
    “Tell us about your roommates,” Aunt Jean urged, coming back into the dining room with a blackberry pie.
    There was no escape. Polly had to list her roommates and say where they were from. Then Uncle Rand asked her about her teachers.
    Finally, Noni said, “Enough questions, now. I think Polly’s tired. Let’s have a song or two, and then she can go to bed.” They gathered around the piano. Polly belted out the tunes, the familiar words cancelling out everything that had happened this horrible week.
    Polly opened her eyes and stretched. She was in her own comfortable bed, the same arbutus tree gleamed in the sun outside the window, and, best of all, her beloved Tarka dozed at her feet. As soon as she moved, he wormed his way up and pressed against her side, then flipped onto his back so Polly could rub his tummy.
    The only sound was the swish of the sea and a raven’s hoarse croak. There was no clanging bell, no rigid schedule,and no crowd of noisy girls. She was
alone
, and she had the entire day to do as she pleased.
    As usual, Polly made tea and toast for herself and Noni, and carried it upstairs on a tray.
    “Ah, hen, what a treat! All week I had to go down and make my own breakfast.” Noni patted the bed. “Come and sit beside me.”
    Polly leaned against the pillow and nibbled her toast, tossing bits to Tarka. Her grandmother put down her cup. “Now, tell me what you
really
think of St. Winifred’s.”
    Polly didn’t want to think of school at all, but she had to answer. “I hate it,” she muttered.
    “What do you hate about it?” Noni asked calmly.
    Polly spat out her words like hot coals. “I’m never alone and I hardly ever get to go outside. There are loud bells that tell us to do things. Our dorm floor is splintery, and my bed is lumpy. There are so many stupid rules—we can’t even talk in the halls! It’s crowded and noisy, and the food is horrible. In the school bathroom there’s only one roller towel for all of us—it’s disgusting! Our homeroom teacher is really mean. Miss Guppy is just as bossy as she was when Maud was there. I miss you and Tarka and everyone else on the island so much. And Noni, the drawing teacher told me I was a show-off!”
    “Gracious, what a lot of things to hate! It’s a shame about your drawing teacher. But I’m sure your other art teacher will be different. Isn’t there anything you
like
?”
    Polly thought hard. “Having indoor toilets.”
    Noni chuckled. “That must feel like a real luxury after the island. But there must be something else you like. What about the other girls in your dorm?”
    “I like Eleanor,” said Polly, “and Daisy’s all right. But Rhoda is really spoiled and stuck-up.” She took a deep breath. “Oh, Noni, do I have to go back?”
    Now Noni looked flinty. “Polly, we’ve gone over this so often. I’m very sorry you don’t like St. Winifred’s, but you’ve only