But for all her vanity and absurdity Frisky Fenton was a lovable creature. She was preëminently a “jolly girl.” She had comical names for all Miss Dick’s teachers. She hit off the peculiarities of her schoolmates, and told absurd stories about them. She noticed everything that went on around her and kept up a vivacious fire of comment. As soon as she forgot to affect resignation and the secret sorrow, she was most appreciative of all the pleasures life had to offer and particularly of the treat Betty had given her. Everything they had to eat was “simply great,” the Tally-ho was “exactly perfect,” Betty was “too sweet,” and Dorothy “a little darling.”
Betty decided that she was only silly on top, and, though she much preferred Shirley as a best friend for Dorothy, she saw no reason to worry about Francisca’s bad influence, especially as the Smallest Sister displayed much conscientiousness in the matter of coming to consult her big sister on all important matters.
She came twice that very week. Once it was to ask if she should wear her best white dress, or only her second best blue one to Shirley’s birthday party. Frisky had advised the best, under all the delicate circumstances, but Dorothy wanted to be quite sure. The next time a moral question was involved. If you were asked to a spread after bedtime was it wrong to go? Betty, who detested prigs, dexterously evaded the issue.
“It’s rather messy eating in the dark, and you must get awfully sleepy waiting for the teachers to go to bed. When you’ve all got desperately hungry for good eats let me know, and we’ll have a scrumptious spread at the Tally-ho.”
CHAPTER VII
THE DOLL WAVE
The B. C. A. initiation was naturally a joyous occasion. To begin with, Babbie Hildreth was commanded to stand for half an hour outside the tea-shop with a huge “engaged” sign pinned across her shoulders. She smiled composedly, waited patiently for the sign to be adjusted, and then, since no particular position had been specified, mounted hastily to the top story of the Peter Pan Annex, where the yellowing leaves completely hid her from curious eyes. Eleanor was meanwhile led to the kitchen and told to make sugar-cookies after the family recipe. As she had never in her life made sugar-cookies—or any other kind—her demonstration proved entertaining enough to while away the half hour very pleasantly. Then Babbie was called down, given one of Eleanor’s cookies, and told to keep on eating it until she could guess what it was meant to be. She ate it all, making many vain protests, and was only excused from sampling another because she threatened, in an irresistibly clever speech, to appeal to the Humane Society. Mary Brooks was next instructed to write to the person whom she thought it most concerned, warning him about Eleanor’s lack of domestic accomplishments. Then Madeline read some “Rules for the Engaged Member,” which were almost as funny as the “Rules for the Perfect Patron.”
Babbie had just been put in the most retired corner of the B. C. A.’s stall and told to do her “Mary-had-a-Little-Lamb” stunt, when Georgia and the Dutton twins arrived upon the scene, hot from a tennis match and voicing a reckless determination to go straight through all the sundaes and cooling drinks on the new menu.
“We can sit with you, can’t we?” asked Straight Dutton. “The other stalls all have people in them, and Fluffy’s hair is a disgrace to be seen.”
“Then take her out behind the house—or shop or barn, whatever you call it—and pin it up,” Madeline told them severely. “Certainly you can’t come in here. This is a B. C. A. tea-drinking and initiation. You’re not B. C. A.’s.”
“That’s not our fault. It’s perfectly mean of you to have a secret society and leave us out,” wailed Fluffy. “Think of all the orders we got you for skirt braids.”