"I've never known you to act so before. I've thought you were a nice, sweet-tempered little girl, and here you are acting like a cantankerous catamaran!"
"What is the matter with you, Doll?" asked Trudy; "you are unreasonable about the little Rose girl."
"Let her alone," said Dolly's mother; "she'll get over it."
"I'll never get over it," declared Dolly; "I don't want to know a girl as big as I am, who plays with dolls."
"How do you know she plays with dolls?"
"Well, a dolls' carriage went in there the day they moved in."
"Perhaps it's one she used to have, and she has kept it, for old associations."
"Maybe. Anyhow, I don't like her. She made faces at me."
"Really?" and her mother smiled.
"Well, she scowled at me, and shook her head like a – like a – "
"Like a little girl shaking her head," said Mr. Fayre, to help her out.
But Dolly didn't smile. She was a queer nature, was Dolly. Usually sunny and happy-hearted, she liked almost everything and everybody, but if she did take a dislike, it became a prejudice, and very hard to remove.
Dolly was pretty, with the bluest of blue eyes and the pinkest of pink cheeks and the yellowest of yellow hair. She was inclined to be plump, and Trudy was always beseeching her not to eat so much candy and sweet desserts. But Dolly loved these things and had small concern about her increasing weight. She didn't care much for outdoor play, and would rather sit in the hammock and read a story-book than run after tennis balls.
Her mother called her a dreamer, and often came upon her, sitting in the twilight, her thoughts far away in a fairyland of her own imagination, enjoying wonderful adventures and thrilling scenes.
Dolly was in the grammar school and next year would be in the high school. She didn't like study, particularly, except history and literature, but she studied conscientiously and always knew her lessons.
This morning, she kissed her mother good-bye, and started off for school. She wore a blue and white gingham, and a fawn-coloured coat. Swinging her bag of books, she marched past the Rose house, and though she didn't look at her, she could see the Rose girl on the front steps.
"I wonder if she'll go to our school," thought Dolly; and for a moment the impulse seized her to stop and "scrape acquaintance." Then she remembered that shaking head, and fearing a rebuff, she walked on by.
"Do you know that new girl next door to you?" Celia Ferris asked her as she entered the school yard.
"No; do you?" and Dolly looked indifferent.
"No, I don't; but my mother knows a lady, who knows them and she says Dorothy, – that's her name, – is a wonder."
"A wonder! How?"
"Oh, she's so smart and so clever, and she can do everything so well."
This was enough for Dolly Fayre. To think that disagreeable new neighbour of hers, must be a paragon of all the virtues!
But Dolly was never unjust. She knew she had no real reason to dislike Dorothy Rose, so she only said, "I haven't met her yet. My mother is going to call there this week, and then I s'pose I'll get acquainted with her."
"How funny," said Celia, who was chummy by nature. "I should think you'd go in and play with her without waiting for your mother to call, – and all that. Anybody'd think you were as old as Trudy."
"Oh, I could do that if I wanted to, but I don't want to."
"Well, I think I'll go to see her, anyway. If she's so smart it would be nice to have her in the Closing Day exercises. I s'pose she'll come to school here."
"Of course, you can do as you like, Celia, but I think it's too late to get any new girls in now."
Dolly went on to the schoolroom, her heart full of resentment at this "smart" interloper. It was a little bit a feeling of jealousy, for Dolly Fayre was head and front of everything that went on at the Berwick Grammar School, and it jarred a little to think of having a wonder-girl come in with a lot of new ideas and plans and mix everything all up at the last minute.
But don't get any mistaken idea that Dolly Fayre was a mean-minded or small-natured girl. On the contrary, she was generosity itself in all her dealings with her schoolmates. Every one liked her, and with good reason, for she never quarrelled, and was always happy and smiling.
But the Rose girl had acted queer from the first, and Dolly couldn't admit the desirability of bringing her into their already arranged "Closing Exercises." These were so important as to be almost sacred rites, and as usual Dolly was at the head of all the committees, and her word was law.
She went home from school that afternoon, thinking about it, and her pretty face looked very sober as she went in the house and put her school-books neatly away in their place.
"There's some lemonade and cookies on the sideboard," said her mother as Dolly went through the hall.
"All right, Mumsie," and somehow, after these refreshments had been absorbed, Dolly felt better, and life seemed to have a brighter outlook.
She took an unfinished story-book and picked up her white kitten, and went out to the side verandah, her favourite spot of a warm afternoon.
"You see, Flossy," she whispered, addressing the kitten, "I want you with me, 'cause I'm buffled to-day." Dolly was in the habit of making up words, if she couldn't think of any to suit her, and just at the moment buffled seemed to her to mean a general state of being ruffled, and buffeted and rebuffed and generally huffy.
"And you well know, Floss, that when I feel mixy-up, there's nothing so comforting and soothing as a nice little, soft little, cuddly little kitty-cat."
Flossy blinked her eyes, and purred gently, and was just as comforting as she could be, which is saying a good deal.
There was a big, wide swing on the side verandah, one of those cushioned settee affairs that are so cosy to snuggle into, and read.
And it was without a glance at the house next door, that Dolly snuggled herself in among the red cushions and opened her book, while Flossy cuddled in the hollow of her arm; and concluding that she would be quite as comforting asleep as awake, the kitten promptly fell into a doze.
Meantime there were arrivals at the Rose house.
Eugenia, the eleven year old girl, had been staying with a cousin until the house should be put in order, and now she had come to the new home.
She was a black-haired witch, and of exceeding vivacious and volatile disposition.
"OO! – ee!" she exclaimed; "isn't it great! Take me everywhere, Dot! Show me all the rooms and all the outdoorses and everything! I didn't know it was such a big house. Which is my room?"
Even as she talked, Eugenia was flying upstairs, only to turn right around and fly down again. She danced from room to room, sometimes followed or preceded by Dotty and sometimes not. Her own room delighted her. It faced the Fayres' house, being the one Dorothy had rejected in favour of the other.
"Where's Blot?" asked Dotty; "didn't you bring him?"
"Oh, yes; he's down with Thomas. He's crazy. He barked all the way here."
But Dotty was already flying down stairs to find her beloved puppy.
"Here he is, Miss Dorothy," and the chauffeur, Thomas, gave the black poodle into her arms.
"Oh, you blessed Blotty-boy! Oh, you cunnin' Blotsy-wotsy! Does him love hims Dotty?"
The love was manifested by some moist caresses and then Blot was all for a scamper. Dotty took him out on the lawn and set him down, herself all ready for a romp.
Now only a minute before, Flossy, the white kitten, had waked from her nap, and seeing that Dolly was absorbed in her story-book, inferred that kitten comfort was not at the moment needed, and decided to go after a very yellow butterfly out on the Fayre lawn.
Stealthily across the grass, Flossy went butterflywards, on tippy-toe. Each white paw