"There's Mrs. Van Wyck coming!" and Charlie flew up the lane, dashing headlong into the house, to the imminent peril of her best dress, which she had been allowed to put on for an hour or two.
"Mrs. Van Wyck!"
Granny brushed back her bobbing flaxen curls, washed Dot's face over again with the nearest white cloth, which happened to be Flossy's best handkerchief that she had been doing up for Sunday.
"Oh!" the young lady cried in dismay, and then turned to make her prettiest courtesy. Mrs. Van Wyck was very well off indeed, and lived in quite a pretentious cottage,—villa she called it; but, as she had a habit of confusing her V's and W's, Joe re-christened it the Van Wyck Willow.
"Good-afternoon, Mrs. Kenneth. How d'y do, Florence?"
Florence brought out a chair, and, with the most polite air possible, invited her to be seated.
Mrs. Van Wyck eyed her sharply.
"'Pears to me you look quite fine," she said.
Florence wore a white dress that was pretty well outgrown, and had been made from one of her mother's in the beginning. It had a good many little darns here and there, and she was wearing it for the last time. She had tied a blue ribbon in her curls, and pinned a tiny bouquet on her bosom. She looked very much dressed, but that was pretty Flossy's misfortune.