ir tied
with enormous blue silk bows, her short skirts frilled with eyelet
embroidery, her slender silk legs, her little white sandals. Madame's
maid had not yet struck the Japanese gong, and all the pupils were out
on the lawn, Amelia, in her clean, ugly gingham and her serviceable
brown sailor hat, hovering near Lily, as usual, like a common, very
plain butterfly near a particularly resplendent blossom. Lily really
noticed her. She spoke to her confidentially; she recognized her fully
as another of her own sex, and presumably of similar opinions.

"Ain't boys ugly, anyway?" inquired Lily of Amelia, and a wonderful
change came over Amelia. Her sallow cheeks bloomed; her eyes showed blue
glitters; her little skinny figure became instinct with nervous life.
She smiled charmingly, with such eagerness that it smote with pathos and
bewitched.

"Oh yes, oh yes," she agreed, in a voice like a quick flute obbligato.
"Boys are ugly."

"Such clothes!" said Lily.

"Yes, such clothes!" said Amelia.

"Always spotted," said Lily.

"Always covered all over with spots," said Amelia.

"And their pockets always full of horrid things," said Lily.

"Yes," said Amelia.

Amelia glanced openly at Johnny Trumbull; Lily with a sidewise effect.

Johnny had heard every word. Suddenly he arose to action and knocked
down Lee Westminster, and sat on him.

"Lemme up!" said Lee.

Johnny had no quarrel whatever with Lee. He grinned, but he sat still.
Lee, the sat-upon, was a sharp little boy. "Showing off before the
gals!" he said, in a thin whisper.

"Hush up!" returned Johnny.

"Will you give me a writing-pad--I lost mine, and mother said I couldn't
have another for a week if I did--if I don't holler?" inquired Lee.

"Yes. Hush up!"

Lee lay still, and Johnny continued to sit upon his prostrate form.
Both were out of sight of Madame's windows, behind a clump of the cedars
which graced her lawn.

"Always fighting," said Lily, with a fine crescendo of scorn. She lifted
her chin high, and also her nose.

"Always fighting," said Amelia, and also lifted her chin and nose.
Amelia was a born mimic. She actually looked like Lily, and she spoke
like her.

Then Lily did a wonderful thing. She doubled her soft little arm into an
inviting loop for Amelia's little claw of a hand.

"Come along, Amelia Wheeler," said she. "We don't want to stay near
horrid, fighting boys. We will go by ourselves."

And they went. Madame had a headache