least notion of staying away; of course he was going, and good-naturedly
joined the group.

I wonder if you have the least conception of how those boys looked? The
ideas of some people cannot get below nicely-patched clothes, carefully
brushed boots, clean collars, and neatly arranged hair.

Clean collars! Not a boy of them owned a collar. No thought of brushing
their worn-out, unmended boots ever entered their minds. Their clothes
were much patched, but in many places needed it still.

Stephen Crowley had made a somewhat unsuccessful attempt to put his mass
of hair in order. Most of the others had not thought even of that. Why
should they? Poor Dirk, you will remember, if he had thought of it, had
no comb with which to experiment. It is doubtful if many of the others
were any better off in this respect.

Imagine the seven standing, a confused, grinning, heap, in the centre of
Mrs. Roberts' large and brilliantly-lighted hall!

She came forward to welcome them, shaking hands, though they made no
attempt to offer a hand in greeting. She had to grasp after each. She
essayed to introduce Gracie; not one of them attempted a bow.

"Come this way," Mrs. Roberts said, "and take seats." Then she led the
way into the long, bright, elegantly-furnished, flower-decked room.

They followed her in a row. Midway in the room they made a halt. They
caught a view of themselves--full length at that--revealed by the great
mirrors. They had never seen themselves set in contrast before. They