"Did you like it there?"

"No, it was horrid. I hated to be dressed up and sent for a walk."

He looked incredulous. "Most girls like to be dressed up."

"I don't."

"Don't you like to be told you are a pretty little girl with nice
clothes?"

"No, I don't."

He sniffed disdainfully. "Oh, go long. I don't believe that."

Beth grew very much in earnest, and thought of another little
illustration.

"Truth 'pon honor. One day a strange lady in a store put her hand on
my head, and said: 'What a pretty little girl.' It made me mad, so
that I just grunted and made up a face at her. My mamma said, 'Why,
Beth, that is very naughty.' I said, 'Well, mamma, what business is it
of hers whether I am pretty or not? It isn't my fault if I am pretty
and people shouldn't bother me.'"

The boy laughed. "I believe I rather like you, Beth, but I only have
your word for it that you are not like other girls. I have a big mind
to try you. Shall I?"