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 that
morning, and the Japanese gong did not ring for
fifteen minutes longer. During that time Lily and
Amelia sat together on a little rustic bench under a
twinkling poplar, and they talked, and a sort of
miniature sun-and-satellite relation was established
between them, although neither was aware of it.
Lily, being on the whole a very normal little girl, and
not disposed to even a full estimate of herself as
compared with others of her own sex, did not dream
of Amelia's adoration, and Amelia, being rarely
destitute of self-consciousness, did not understand the