Now it stands to reason that after a scene like that just described, the two girls couldn't get up and walk off home without a word.
So they sat on the grass and looked at each other.
And when the troubled blue eyes of Dolly Fayre saw the big brown eyes of Dotty Rose twinkle and saw her red lips smile, she discovered that the scowl she had objected to was not permanent, and she smiled back.
But somehow, they could think of nothing to say. The smile broke the ice a little, but Dolly Fayre was timid, and Dotty Rose was absorbed in looking at the other's blue eyes and yellow hair.
But it was Dotty who spoke first. "Well," she said, "how do you like me?"
It was an unfortunate question. For Dolly Fayre hadn't a single definite notion regarding Dotty Rose except that she didn't like her. However, it would hardly do to tell her that, so she said, slowly: "I don't know yet; how do you like me?"
"Well, I think you're awfully pretty, to begin with."
"So do I you," put in Dolly, glad to find a favourable report that she could make truthfully.
"Aren't we different," went on the other thoughtfully; "you're so blonde and I'm so dark."
"Yes; I just hate my hair,—towhead, Bert calls me."
"Who's Bert?"
"He's my brother; he's away at school. He's seventeen years old." Dolly spoke proudly, as if she had said, "he's captain of the Fleet."
"Why, I've got a brother away at school, too."
"Have you? What's his name?"
"Bob; of course it's Robert, but we always call him Bob. He's eighteen."
"What else have you got?"
Dotty knew the question referred to family connections, and answered: "A little sister, Genie, 'leven years old."
"That all?"
"Yep. 'Cept Aunt Clara, who lives with us, she's a widow. And of course, Mother and Dad."
"I've got a grown-up sister, Trudy. She's in s'ciety now, and she's awful pretty."
"Look like you?"
"Some. But she's all fluffy-haired and dimply-smiled, you know."
"What funny words you use."
"Do I? Well, I only do when I can't think of the real ones. Are you going to the Grammar School?"
"Mother says it's too late to begin this year. Here it is May,—and it closes in June. So she says for me to wait till next year."
This was comforting. If the girl didn't go to school this year she couldn't make any bother with the Closing Exercises. Beside, maybe she was not such a dislikable girl as she had seemed at first. Dolly sat and regarded her. At last she said: "Then the doll-carriage belongs to your little sister."
"To Genie, yes. How did you know she had one?"
"Saw it come with your things, the day you moved in."
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen, but I'll be fifteen next month,—June."
"Why, so will I! Isn't that funny! What day is your birthday?"
"The tenth."
"Mine's the twentieth. We're almost twins. And our names are quite alike, too. Mine's Dorothy, really, but they all call me Dotty."
"And mine's Dorinda, but I'm called Dolly."
"And we both have brothers at school, and we each have a sister."
"But mine is a big sister and yours is a little sister."
"Yes, but we have as many differences as we have likenesses. You're so fair, and—why, your name is Fayre!"
Dolly laughed. "Yes, and you're so rosy and your name is Rose!"
"Dotty Rose and Dolly Fayre! We ought to be friends. Shall we?"
Dolly hesitated. She was too honest to pretend to a liking she didn't quite feel. She looked squarely at Dotty Rose, and said, straightforwardly, "What made you scowl at me that first day you came?"
"I didn't!" and Dotty Rose opened her brown eyes in astonishment.
"Yes, you did; and you shook your head at me when I smiled to you. You were sitting in a window, with your legs hanging out."
"Sitting where! Oh, I remember! Why, I didn't scowl at you, it was because Aunt Clara called me to come in out of that window. And I didn't want to, so I scowled. I've a fearful temper. And then, she told me again to come in, and I shook my head. I wasn't shaking it at you! Why, I didn't know you then!"
Dolly drew a long breath. "Then that's all right! I thought you scowled because I smiled at you, and it made me mad. All right, I'll be friends with you. I'd like to. I think you're real nice."
"So do I you!"
Chapter III.
The New Rooms
In the cushioned swing on the Fayres' verandah the two girls sat.
An artist would have stopped to admire the picture. Dorinda, her pink and white face framed in its golden halo of curlilocks, her light blue frock, neat and smooth, was calmly and daintily nibbling at a piece of cake, catching the crumbs carefully as they fell.
Beside her, Dorothy was rapidly munching her cake as she talked, and letting the crumbs fall where they might. Her black hair framed her rosy cheeks and her eyes snapped and sparkled as she gesticulated with both hands. It was Dorothy's habit to emphasise her remarks with expressive little motions, and her father often said that if her hands were tied behind her, she couldn't say a word!
Her pink lawn dress was rather tumbled by reason of her wriggling and jumping about, but Dorothy's frocks were rarely unrumpled after she had had them on ten minutes.
"We've been friends more than a week now," she said, as she finished her cake in one large bite and brushed a few stray bits out of her lap. "And I think you're just fine! I'm so glad we came to live in Berwick. I like you better than any girl I ever knew." Dotty spread her hands wide as if embracing all the girls who had figured in her previous existence. "Do you like me as much as that?"
As she spoke, she touched her toes to the floor and sent the swing up in the air with a mad jump.
"Oh!" gasped Dolly, as her cake flew out of her hand; "how—how sudden you are!"
"Never mind! Do you like me as much as I like you?"
"I don't know," and Dolly looked thoughtful; "I like you, of course, but I wish you'd sit stiller."
"Can't; I'm always jumpy. But you do like me, don't you, Dollyrinda?"
"Yes, but I can't hop into a liking the way you do. We're awfully different, you know."
"'Course we are! That's what makes us like each other. Just think, Dolly, we'll be fifteen soon. Don't you think we ought to be called by our full names and not Dolly and Dotty any more?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Oh, 'cause we're too big for baby names. I'm going to stop wearing hair-ribbons."
"You are! How ever will you keep your hair back? And you've such a lot of it."
"I know. So've you. Why, I'll just braid it, and let the end flutter. But Mother says she won't let me till I'm sixteen. Well, we'll see. Do you want