chums, each of whom seems to be the best while the friendship lasts.
Bessie wanted to be friendly with everyone, and what Eleanor had begun
to tell her about Dolly made her think that perhaps the mischief maker
of the Camp Fire was lonely like herself.

"You're just like me--you haven't any mother or sister, have you?" said
Dolly, after they were both in bed.

Bessie was glad of the darkness that hid the quick flush that stained
her cheeks. Since she had talked with Brack she was beginning to feel
that there was something shameful about her position, although, had she
stopped to think, she would have known that no one who knew the facts
would blame her, even if her parents had behaved badly in deserting her.
And, as a matter of fact, Bessie clung to the belief that her parents
had not acted of their own free will in leaving her so long with the
Hoovers. She thought, and meant to keep on thinking, that they had been
unable to help themselves, and that some time, when good fortune came
to them again, she would see them and that they would make up to her in
love for all the empty, unhappy years in Hedgeville.

"Yes, I'm like you, Dolly," she answered, finally. "I don't know what's
become of my parents. I wish I did."

"I know what's become of mine," said Dolly, her voice suddenly hard--too
hard for so young a girl. "My mother's dead. She died when I was a baby.
And my father doesn't care what becomes of me. He lives in Europe, and
once in a while he sends me money but he doesn't seem to want to see me,
ever."

"Where do you live, Dolly?" asked Bessie.