andsome Wheelers might not be in the child and yet appear. But she was
mistaken. What she saw was pure mimicry of a beautiful ideal.

Little Amelia tried to stand like Lily Jennings; she tried to walk like
her; she tried to smile like her; she made endeavors, very often
futile, to dress like her. Mrs. Wheeler did not in the least approve
of furbelows for children. Poor little Amelia went clad in severe
simplicity; durable woolen frocks in winter, and washable, unfadable,
and non-soil-showing frocks in summer. She, although her mother had
perhaps more money wherewith to dress her than had any of the other
mothers, was the plainest-clad little girl in school. Amelia, moreover,
never tore a frock, and, as she did not grow rapidly, one lasted several
seasons. Lily Jennings was destructive, although dainty. Her pretty
clothes were renewed every year. Amelia was helpless before that
problem. For a little girl burning with aspirations to be and look like
another little girl who was beautiful and wore beautiful clothes, to be
obliged to set forth for Madame's on a lovely spring morning, when thin
attire was in evidence, dressed in dark-blue-andwhite-checked gingham,
which she had worn for three summers, and with sleeves which, even to
childish eyes, were anachronisms, was a trial. Then to see Lily flutter
in a frock like a perfectly new white flower was torture; not because
of jealousy--Amelia was not jealous; but she so admired the other little
girl, and so loved her, and so wanted to be like her.

As for Lily, she hardly ever noticed Amelia. She was not aware that
she herself was an object of adoration; for she was a little girl who
searched for admiration in the eyes of little boys rather than little
girls, although very innocently. She always glanced slyly at Johnny
Trumbull when she wore a pretty new frock, to see if he noticed. He
never did, and she was sharp enough to know it. She was also child
enough not to care a bit, but to take a queer pleasure in the sensation
of scorn which she felt in consequence. She would eye Johnny from head
to foot, his boy's clothing somewhat spotted, his bulging pockets, his
always dusty shoes, and when he twisted uneasily, not understanding why,
she had a thrill of purely feminine delight. It was on one such occasion
that she first noticed Amelia Wheeler particularly.

It was a lovely warm morning in May, and Lily was a darling to
behold--in a big hat with a wreath of blue flowers, her ha