ead,
her blue, blue eyes staring through the windows to the darkening
harbour waters, afar off.

She blushed rosily red when Alma ran in.

"I--I was just thinking," she said.

"What were you thinking of, Thea?" asked Alma, "and what have you done
your hair like this for? You _do_ look so pretty--I wish the girls could
see you."

Dot pulled her friend towards her and patted the arm of her chair for
her to sit there. Then she leaned her head upon Alma's shoulder and held
one of her hands between her own two.

"I was _wishing_ I were grown-up, really grown-up," she said; "I did my
hair up to see how I looked. I tried to do it like your mother does
hers."

Alma stroked her head gently.

"My mother is in love with you," she said. "She has just been saying all
sorts of _beautiful_ things about you. She says she wishes you were her
daughter."

"Oh!" said Dot. "Her daughter! How I _wish_ I were!"--and no disloyalty
to her own mother was meant. "To live here always! To be rich! To----"

She paused. "Oh, Alma," she added, "you _are_ a lucky girl."

But Alma only sighed.

Dot began to think again, comparing in her own mind this home of Alma's
with her own little bush home.

"Oh!" she said at last; "How happy you ought to be. How would you like
to change places with me!"

And to her surprise Alma burst into tears, covering her face with her
little trembling hands.

Gentle ways belonged to Dorothea.

She stood up and put her friend into her chair and then she knelt beside
her, and slipped her arm round her waist.

"_Dearest_ Alma!" she whispered.

"Oh," sobbed Alma, "if only you were my _very_ own sister Thea--I
_couldn't_ love you more. I'm _so_ lonely. Father is always busy, and
mother--mother is disappointed in me."

Dot opened her eyes in surprise. She had never dreamed of a mother being
_disappointed_ in her child.

"I'm not pretty--or clever--or _any_thing," sobbed Alma. "She's always
been disappointed in me--ever since I was a tiny baby--and I've always
known it--and--and--she doesn't know I know. Oh dear!"

Dot was shocked. "Darling Alma!" she said again.

"It's dreadful to be the only child--and to be a disappointment," said
Alma. "I think father is sorry for us both."

Dot stroked the girl's straight hair.

"You've got lovely eyes," she said, "and you're very clever at crotchet
work."

"What's that!" said Alma drearily. "Mother wouldn't mind if I never
touched a needle. She says if a girl