“Now, Lolly, you may just run home again as quick as you can,” said Maddie sharply. “We haven’t enough dinner for Alice and me. Go, now!” And she went towards her and gave her a slight push, at which the
child cried, but without turning away or making a step towards home.
“Is that your sister?” asked Alice, going up to Maddie.
“Yes; she’s always running after me,” returned Maddie, with an ill-natured frown.
“Poor little thing!” said Alice. “I wish my sister Nellie had lived. I shouldn’t be cross to her, I know. Come here, Lolly: you shall have some of my dinner.” And she led the little grateful child to the wild table, that seemed to her like a fairy scene, with the fresh leaf-plates, and the pure sweet flowers breathing so delightfully.
“Mother makes capital bread—doesn’t she, Maddie?” said Alice, as she ate her small portion with evident relish, while she shared the remnant with her guests.
“Now, Maddie,” said she, as they finished the repast, “you clear the
table and wash the dishes, and Lolly and I’ll go to my mirror to make ourselves nice to sit down, and then I’ll tell you the story my teacher told me the other day, if you would like to hear it.”
Maddie gladly agreed to this; and Lolly gave herself up to the gentle hands of her new friend, who took her to the brook and washed her face until the dirt all vanished and her cheeks were like two red roses. Then she took her pocket-comb, and, dipping it into the water, made the child’s hair so smooth that Lolly didn’t know herself when she looked into the brook, and asked, “What little girl it was with such bright eyes and fresh rosy cheeks?” And when Alice told her that it was herself, she laughed with delight, and said “she would come every day to dress herself by Alice’s mirror if she could look so nice.”
And then Alice and Maddie and Lolly went to the bower for the story.