Genie looked so comical, as she shook her fat little forefinger at Dotty, that they all laughed.
“Cry, that’s the bestest way,” Genie went on. “If you cry hard enough, you’re sure to get it.”
“That’s all right for little kiddies like you, Gene, but big girls don’t cry. They just say what they want, and then if their parents are nice, loving, affectionate, good-hearted people, I should think they would get their wishes.”
“Well put, Dottikins,” cried her father. “I guess, Mother, the little girl will have to have her new furbelows. Of course, you’ll get something suitable. Say, a nice blue gingham.”
Dotty smiled absently at this mild jest, and went on, her first point gained, to her second.
“And I want to go with Tad. I don’t want to go with father, like a baby. All the girls are going with the boys. Celia Ferris is going with Lollie Henry—”
“That question must wait, Dorothy,” and when Mrs. Rose used that name, Dotty knew she was very much in earnest. “I’m comparatively new in Berwick, and I must find out what the other mothers think about it before I decide. Now, stop teasing; after I confer with some of the ladies I’ll decide. I don’t think much of Celia Ferris as a model. And I’m by no means sure Dolly’s mother will let her go with Tod. So you must wait and see.”
Dotty knew from her mother’s manner there was no use teasing any more, so she turned her attention back to her frock.
“Well, if it can’t be red chiffon, Mother, can’t it be red organdie?”
“We’ll see about it. If you’re so bent on a red dress, perhaps we can hunt one up.” Mrs. Fayre smiled at her impetuous daughter, and Dotty felt sure she had secured a red gown, at least.