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most their seeing you yourself in such a mess," said mamma,regretfully. "I don't think you should do the flowers if it dirties youso."

  "Oh, I _needn't_ be so dirty," I said. "But I didn't mind that half asmuch as the drawing-room;" and then I had to explain how I hadinterfered with the housemaid.

  "It can't be helped," mamma replied. "They are nice, kind people, I amsure, and the next time they come we must have things ready. Besides,such a large family as they are, they can't be always in apple-pie orderthemselves. Connie," she went on, "did you hear that dear child'sname?"

  "Of course," I said, rather sharply. "They call her Evey, but hername's not `Eva,' nor `Evelyn'--she told me so, and she was just goingto tell me her real name, when Captain Whyte called to her. I daresayit's some name not the least like `Eva.'"

  "Oh," said mamma, in a tone of disappointment, "I had hoped it was."

  In my heart I was sorry for her; how gentle and kind she was! And whenI went upstairs to wash my hands, I had even more reason to think so,for when I looked in the glass--oh dear!--what an untidy, dirty littlegirl I saw! There was a smear of mould all down one cheek, some ofwhich I had rubbed on to my nose, and my hair was straggling and myfrock torn, as I have said. "I would have scolded _my_ daughterdreadfully if I had been mamma," I said to myself. And I got hot andred all over when I thought of my grand plans and pictures of my firstmeeting with our new friends.

  My next meeting with them, though different from this first one, wasalso quite different from my fancies. We saw the Whytes in church onSunday--not Mrs Whyte, she was not to come until Monday--but CaptainWhyte and Evey and a big boy--quite big, looking almost grown up, andthree small ones--dear little fellows in sailor-suits, all in a row,between Evey and the big brother. And they were so good! Evey herselfwas as neat as could be, and her jacket and hat were a very nice shape,and her hair prettily done. Altogether I began to be afraid the Whyteswere not the sort of people I could at all "show off" to--(not that Icalled it "showing off" to myself). And after church I saw Lady Honorhurry up to them, and I _felt_ she was asking them all to go home withher to luncheon. So I walked on rather gloomily beside mamma.

  "I don't think I want to know the Whytes," I said; "I think they're verystuck-up."

  Mamma stared at me in astonishment.

  "Connie, dear?" she said, "that simple child! And so plainly dressed,too. She might rather think it of you, I'm afraid."

  But she glanced at me so proudly as she said it, that my self-love feltrather smoothed down than otherwise.

  "I am glad for little Miss Whyte to see that you are not _usually_ goingabout in a torn frock and with a dirty face," mamma went on. "Ofcourse, Mrs Whyte could not afford to dress several children as one candress an only one, though they certainly look very neat. I am sureevery one must admire that jacket of yours, Connie; it is really verypretty."

  It was a new jacket, dark-brown velvet, very handsomely trimmed withfur; rather _too_ handsome altogether, I now think, for a girl of theage I was then. But I had been very well pleased with it and the cap tomatch, and it had struck me--though really I was _not_ vain of my looks,nor much interested in my clothes--as I was dressing, that my fair, longhair looked nice on the rich, dark velvet. Now, however, I gave myselfa dissatisfied shake.

  "I don't think I like it, mamma. I would much rather have a tweedjacket and frock the same. I think velvet and fur are rather vulgar.And--mamma--I wish you'd cut my hair off--I think Evey Whyte looks sonice with her short, dark, curly hair." I forget if I have said thatEvey's hair was almost as short as a boy's.

  Mamma gasped. "Cut off your hair, Connie!" she said. "My SweetContent's great beauty! Cut off your hair, Connie?"

  I was beginning a rather cross reply, when steps behind us--short,quick, pattering steps--made both mamma and me look round. A little boyin a sailor suit was running after us, and behind him again, at somelittle distance, we saw Evey, also running.

  "Oh, please, please stop," panted the small boy. He was the biggest ofthe three we had seen in church. "Evey's got something to say to you,Mrs Percy."

  He tugged off his cap as he spoke, and stood smiling up at us--hisround, rosy face all in a glow. He was a dear, sunburnt little fellow,not the least shy, and yet not a bit forward.

  "I am so sorry we did not hear you coming before," said mamma, kindly."You have run so far. I hope you won't get cold from being sooverheated," she added, anxiously.

  "Oh no, thank you. I never catch cold. It's only Addie that catchescold," the boy replied. He evidently thought we must know who Addiewas, and all about him or her. And by this time Evey's voice was heardnear at hand.

  "How do you do, Mrs Percy?" she said. "I hope you didn't mind Charleyrunning after you? It was Lady Honor sent him, and I've come toexplain. She wants to know if you will let Connie--mayn't I say`Connie'?--come to luncheon at her house with all of us? We're _all_going--isn't it kind?--Charley and Douglas and Tot and Papa and Lancey,too. Oh, do let Connie come. I'm the only girl, and I do feel so funnywithout Mary."

  She was so bright and eager it would have been difficult to refuse. Mycontradictory humour melted away before her heartiness, and I smiledback in answer to the unspoken inquiry in mamma's face.

  "Certainly, my dear; I shall be delighted for Connie to go. Pleasethank Lady Honor very much. Shall I send for her in the afternoon?"

  "Oh, please, we can bring her home. We aren't going to church, becausewe're not very settled yet, and the servants couldn't go this morning,so we shall be going home by ourselves and passing your house beforefour o'clock. Connie won't spoil her things," she added considerately,glancing at my smart attire, "for we shan't be romping, as it isSunday."

  "Oh, I'm not afraid. Connie is not a great frock-tearer," said mamma,smiling, though she spoke quickly. I think she was afraid that myappearance the other day was still in Evey's memory. "Then good-bye,Connie, till four o'clock. And good-bye, Master Charley, and manythanks. Thank you, too, Miss Whyte, very much."

  Then we separated. Mamma continuing her way home, quite happy in myhappiness, while I retraced my steps with Evey and her brother. Eveyglanced over her shoulder at mamma.

  "You don't mind Mrs Percy going home alone, I hope?" she said, halfanxiously.

  It had never struck me that there was anything to mind!

  "Oh, of course not," I said.

  Evey looked a little sorry, but walked on.

  "I didn't mean--" she began. "At least, I only meant--" then her facecleared. She evidently thought she had hit upon an explanation of myindifference. "I see," she said; "it must be quite different when oneis an only child. Your mother _must_ be alone, sometimes; it isn't likeours. You see there are such a lot of us; she would feel quitemiserable if there weren't some of us with her. At least, she says so,"and Evey laughed merrily.

  "Perhaps," I said, half mischievously, "she says it a _little_ out ofpoliteness. I think grown-up people all do like to be alone_sometimes_."

  We both laughed at this, and then the remains of shyness that had hungabout seemed quite to disappear. But I did not forget Evey's gentleanxiety about mamma.

  We soon came up to the others, who were all walking on slowly together--such a party they looked! Captain Whyte and old Mr Bickersteth infront, then Lady Honor and the big boy, Lancey, and the two smallersailor-suits, Tot and Douglas, as Evey had called them, now joined byCharley, bringing up the rear.

  "What a lot of you there must be when you are all together," Iexclaimed, not very politely, I am afraid, to Evey. She smiled, as ifshe thought it rather a compliment.

  "Yes," she said--we were walking rather more slowly now to get back ourbreath, as Lady Honor had nodded back to us to show it was allright--"yes, eight are a good many, and somehow, so many being boys,makes it seem even more--in the house above all. Boys can't help beingnoisy, you see."

  She said it in such an old-fashioned way that I couldn't help smiling.

  "I don't know much about boys," I said. "I thi
nk I'd rather havesisters."

  "Oh, no, you wouldn't," replied Evey quickly. "You don't _know_ hownice brothers are. When you see Joss--" but here she had to break off.Lady Honor had stepped back a pace or two to speak to us. Her facelooked very kind and pleased, and there was nothing the least "mocking,"as I called it to myself, in her tone.

  "That's right, Connie, my dear," she said, as she shook hands with