Pamela Pryor. Already the lovely lights had gone from her face
until it made me so sad I wanted to cry, and I was no easy cry-
baby either. If I couldn't offer friendship for my family I
would for myself.

"You may call me Little Sister, if you like," I said. "I won't
be a stranger."

"Why how lovely!" cried the Princess.

You should have seen the dancing lights fly back to her eyes.
Probably you won't believe this, but the first thing I knew I was
beside her on the throne, her arm was around me, and it's the
gospel truth that she hugged me tight. I just had sense enough
to reach over and pick Laddie's letter from her fingers, and then
I was on her side. I don't know what she did to me, but all at
once I knew that she was dreadfully lonely; that she hated being
a stranger; that she was sorry enough to cry because their house
was one of mystery, and that she would open the door if she
could.

"I like you," I said, reaching up to touch her curls.

I never had seen her that I did not want to. They were like I
thought they would be. Father and Laddie and some of us had wavy
hair, but hers was crisp--and it clung to your fingers, and
wrapped around them and seemed to tug at your heart like it does
when a baby grips you. I drew away my hand, and the hair
stretched out until it was long as any of ours, and then curled
up again, and you could see that no tins had stabbed into her