envied Robin the possession of sight a little keener than her own, but now
she smiled to think that Percival Thorne would never have regretted injury
to "those eyes of yours" had she owned Robin's light-gray orbs.

Her transformation had begun. The knife was still a treasure, but she was
ashamed of her delight in it. She breathed on the shining blades and rubbed
them to brightness again, but she did it stealthily, with a glance over her
shoulder first. She went rambling with Robin and Jack, but not when she
knew that Percival Thorne was in the neighborhood. She was very sure of his
absence on the November day to which her mother had alluded, when she had
insisted on playing trap-and-ball in the rectory meadows. Mrs. Blake did
not realize it, but it was almost the last day of Lottie's old life. At
Christmas-time they were asked to stay for a few days at a friend's house.
There was to be a dance, and the hostess, being Lottie's godmother,
pointedly included her in the invitation; so Mrs. Blake and Addie did what
they could to improve their black sheep's appearance.

Lottie, dressed for the eventful evening, was left alone for a moment
before the three went down. She felt shy, dispirited and sullen. Her
ball-dress encumbered and constrained her. "I hate it all," she said to
herself, beating impatiently with her foot upon the ground. Something
moving caught her eye: it was her reflection in a mirror. She paused and
gazed in wonder. Was this slender girl, arrayed in a cloud of
semi-transparent white, really herself--the Lottie who only a few days
before had raced Robin Wingfield home across the fields, had been the first
over the gap and through the ditch into the rectory meadow, and had rushed
away with the November rain-drops driving in her face? She gazed on: the
transformation had its charms, after all. But the shadow came back: "It's
no use. Addie's prettier than I ever shall be: I must be second all my
life. Second! If I can't be A 1, I'd as soon be Z 1000! I won't go about