"Well, Chick-a-dotty, you'll have a nice playmate in that little girl next door," he said, as his daughter followed him round the house looking after various matters.
"'Deed I won't, Daddy; she's horrid!"
"Why, why! what sort of talk is this? Do you know her?"
"No, but I've seen her, and she isn't nice a bit."
"Oh, I guess she is. I came out in the train last night with a man I know, and he knows the Fayres and he says they're about the nicest people in Berwick."
"Pooh! I don't think so. She's a prim old thing, and doesn't know B from broomstick."
"There, there, Dotty Doodle, don't be hasty in your judgment. Give the little lady a chance."
Later, Dotty and her father walked round the outdoors part of their new domain.
"Isn't it pretty, Daddy!" exclaimed Dotty; "I'm so glad there are a lot of flower-beds and nice big shrubs, and lovely blue spruce trees and lots of things that look like a farm."
The Roses had always lived in the city, and to Dotty's eyes the two acres of ground seemed like a large estate. It was attractively laid out and in good cultivation, and Mr. Rose looked forward with pleasure to the restful life of a suburban town after his city habits.