"Why, Bessie--why did you do that?"

Bessie laughed.

"We're not going to be here very much longer, are we, Dolly?" she said.
"Well--if we're not going to be here, we're not going to see much of
Will Burns. You're not the only girl who--was--who thought that he ought
to be paying more attention to her than to me. There was a pretty girl
from Jericho, and he's known her a long time. Walter told me about them.

"And I could see that she wanted him to drive her home, so I asked him
why he didn't do it. And he got very much confused, but he went over to
her, finally, and she looked just as happy as she could be when he
handed her up into his buggy, and they all went off along the road
together, Will and she and two or three other fellows who had driven
over together from Jericho."

Dolly's expression had changed two or three times, very swiftly, as she
listened. Now she sighed, and her hand crept out to find Bessie's.

"Oh, Bessie," she said, softly, "won't you forgive me, dear? I've made a
fool of myself again--I'm always doing that, it seems to me. And every
time I promise myself or you or someone not to do it again. But the
trouble is there are so many different ways of being foolish. I seem to
find new ones all the time, and every one is so different from the
others that I never know about it until it's too late."

"It's never too late to find out one's been in the wrong, Dolly, if one
admits it. There aren't many girls like you, who are ready to say