the Jacks-in-the-Pulpit I gathered in the woods yesterday. You are
nothing like a wild flower, more like a beautiful pink and white
hyacinth, that grows in the Douglass garden; but sometimes, when you
pretend to be angry, you make me think of the wood flowers. They have
such a way of blooming best when some other growing thing tries to stop
them. Jacks-in-the-Pulpit grow right up through stones, and bloom in
tangles of poison ivy."

"I am sure I have no right to compare myself with flowers," answered the
other pleasantly, for she always admired her friend's poetic ideas,
although other people might laugh at them.

"Shows she is thoughtful, anyway," Dorothy would tell herself, "and that
is what Ralph meant when he said she could not make serious mistakes
when she followed the advice of her kind heart."

The Dale house could be seen through the trees now. Voices were heard
outside; perhaps the boys playing some games.

"I'll leave you here," said Tavia, "you are not afraid of bugaboos are
you?"

"Not a bit," answered Dorothy, laughing. "Be sure to be on time at
school to-morrow. No use adding coals to the fire."

"It depends on whether you intend to wash, bake, or iron. Now I am going
to do all three at school to-morrow, so I may as well keep up a good,
warm fire;" and giving her chum a hearty hug Tavia started off.

Dorothy stopped as she neared the piazza.