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everybody. And I think we shouldtry to see that part of them most. But, _of course_, you don't need tolike everybody the same; that would do away with friends and friendship.One thing I do like you for, Connie, is that you're frank and honest."

  I smiled.

  "Well, then, try to think most of that part of me," I said, repeatingher own words. "No, I'd like you to see the bad parts of me too, andhelp me to be better."

  Evey opened wide her bright brown eyes, and for once she got a littlered.

  "My dear Connie," she said, "I'm far too full of bad things myself to beable to make any one else better," and I saw she quite meant it.

  A nice little thing happened that afternoon as we were leaving, whichwas great encouragement to me. It had grown rather chilly, and at thedoor I was helping mamma on with some extra wraps we had brought.

  "You mustn't catch cold, mamma dear," I said.

  We thought we were alone, but just then Evey ran out again with someforgotten message to mamma, and as they two were speaking I heard voicesjust behind the inner door.

  "I like to see how gentle and tender Connie Percy is to her mother," onesaid--it was Mrs Whyte's. "I might have been sure any girl Lady Honorliked would be _that_."

  Where were all my unworthy fears that Lady Honor had spoken "against me"to the Whytes?

  CHAPTER EIGHT.

  FOUND WANTING.

  That winter and spring and summer, and the winter that followed themtoo, were, happy as my life had been in many ways, the happiest I hadever known. I was not, of course, constantly with the Whytes, for wehad our lessons separately, and they had a great many other things to dobeside lessons, things which it had never entered my head that a littlegirl could help in, though, once I made a start, I found that this hadbeen quite a mistake.

  I have marked down a few special days to write about--for looking backupon your life after a few years you can see what were the reallyimportant things that happened, the events which were the first links ina chain that led to lasting effects--little and trifling as these eventsmay have seemed at the time.

  Yvonne's birthday was in November. Not a very nice month for abirthday, one might think. But, as I have said before, November in ourpart of the world is often very nice. _Some_ days in it are sure to beso, and of course we made up our minds that _the_ day could not but beone of the nicest.

  "I have always been sorry my birthday was in November," said Evey oneafternoon, a week or two before the important date, "but Connie hasalmost made me change my mind."

  "I think it rather suits you," I said. "You wouldn't seem in your placeon a very hot, lazy, full-summer day, when one _can't_ be active andenergetic and useful: the sort of day when you feel you _may_ be idleand of no use for once," and I gave a little sigh. They all laughed.

  "Poor Connie," said Mary, "Evey has bullied you out of your nicecomfortable lazy ways rather too much, hasn't she? Well, I'll tell youwhat, when your birthday comes you shall stay in bed and we'll all comeand pay you a visit."

  They were paying me a visit that day. We were at tea in my schoolroom:I was making the tea--pouring it out I mean--and mamma, who had come into see how we were getting on, was sitting knitting in the window, whereEvey had just carried her a cup. Two of the boys were with us; Addie,whom they always tried to get any treat for, as he was kept out of somany boys' pleasures; and Charley, the next in age to him. Lancelot andJocelyn did not often honour us with their society; they were workingvery hard now, at their particular studies.

  Mamma looked up at this speech of Mary's, and said quickly:

  "I am sure that way of spending her birthday would not be at all toConnie's taste. She has _never_ been lazy, though of course in a largefamily there are a great many things to do that it would be absurd tospend time over where there is only one child and plenty of servants."

  I felt a little vexed. Mamma need not have started up in my defence,and _I_ knew that even if I had never been actually lazy, I had, beforeI began to think about such things, been often very, very _idle_. Icould tell by mamma's tone that she was annoyed, though she spoke asusual quite gently. I could see, too, that Yvonne and Mary felt it, butthen they were so simple and downright that they never took things in ahurt, _self_ sort of way. Mary's face shadowed over a little--she wasjust sorry to have vexed mamma, and ready to blame herself.

  "Oh, dear Mrs Percy," she exclaimed, "_please_ don't think I was inearnest. It would have been very unkind and--impertinent. Do you knowwe often say Connie is the most active of us all, and it's all the morecredit to her, for she doesn't _need_ to be, like us. You couldn'tfancy one of us ever able to sit with our hands before us doingnothing--up at the Yew Trees. Now could you?"

  And she broke into a merry sweet little laugh, for, indeed, the idea ofany one at the Yew Trees indulging in much _dolce far niente_, wasrather comical. They had only two servants, and the odd man, for allthere was to do, and yet everything was nice and comfortably done, andthere was never any "fussing," which _is_ so disagreeable.

  The laugh made Mary's peace.

  "It is all right, my dear," said mamma, kindly. "I daresay I take upthings mistakenly sometimes," she added. "You must forgive me; I fear Ilost some of my capacity for fun long ago."

  She spoke in the rather touching way she sometimes, but rarely, did,when one could see she was thinking of that sad long ago time. Yvonneand Mary glanced at each other, and then at her half wistfully. Theyknew the story, of course, and even if mamma had been cross anddisagreeable, I don't believe they would ever have found it in theirhearts to blame her. Still, there was no doubt mamma had never taken toMary in the same way as to Evey. It was partly, I think, because of thename, "Evey" I mean, which mamma loved so; and partly--now I _hope_ itis not wrong or disrespectful of me to say this--that Mary was like me,only _much_ prettier, and I am afraid poor little darling mamma was atiny atom jealous _for_ me.

  However, it was all smoothed down now about Mary's little speech, andthe boys' talk soon took away any feeling of constraint.

  "The worst of a birthday so near Christmas," said Charley, thoughtfully,"is that it muddles the presents. Either you feel as if you'd got toomuch, or else people give you less than if Christmas wasn't coming, andthat isn't fair."

  "It doesn't matter so much now we've made a new rule," said Addie. "Weall give birthday presents to each other, but at Christmas we only givethem to father and mother, and they give to us. It's a good plan."

  "Yes," said Mary, "there are so many of us, you see, that the lots ofChristmas presents were really dreadful."

  You might think from this that the Whytes were very rich--but if you hadseen the simple presents they gave each other! Yet they weren't sillyor rubbishing, though as often as not home-made, and if not home-made,useful and practical--like gloves or neckties--the kind of presents _I_,I am afraid, would rather have despised. I once heard a rather spoiltlittle girl call such things "at any rate presents," meaning that shewould have got them _any way_. But new gloves and so on were too rareamong my nine friends for them to be looked on in this way.

  "Mother made another rule," said Charley, who was rather a chatterbox,"at least it wasn't a settled rule--it was one we might keep or not andnobody need know--it was about birthdays, for everybody on theirbirthday to promise themselves that they'd do something kind tosomebody--I mean something _extra_, you know, like Addie writing a longletter to old nurse, which is rather a bore. But he did it."

  Addie grew red.

  "And," pursued the irrepressible Charley. "I _think_ I know what Evey'sfixed for her private birthday treat, that's what we call it. Icouldn't help hearing, Evey--your door was wide open when you weretelling Mary. She's going to ask An--"

  "Charley, _hush_," cried Evey, for once almost cross. "If you couldn'thelp hearing, you could help telling it over. And I hadn't settled--Ihaven't yet."

  "If it's anything about Anna Gale, I just hope you haven't settled," Isaid, _very_ crossly. "At least I hope you won't go and do anythingthat
will spoil your birthday for other people."

  Yvonne did not answer, but Mary began talking rather eagerly about a newgame we were going to try, and for the time I forgot about Anna Gale.

  I was very anxious and important about _my_ present to Evey. I hadplenty of pocket-money, and I would have loved to give Evey something_very_ nice. But mamma--I rather think it was papa who put it into herhead to say so to me--told me that she did not think it would do to giveYvonne anything very expensive. It might rather annoy the Whytesinstead of pleasing them. I felt very disappointed at first,