"We can trust you, Elsie, to get in something about her clothes," chuckled Tilly.
"Well, I think she's got brown eyes like Genevieve's, and brown hair like hers, too," asserted Alma Lane.
"Now, Cordelia," smiled Genevieve, "it's your turn. You haven't said, yet."
"There isn't anything left for me to say," replied Cordelia, in a slightly worried voice. "You've got all the pretty things used up. I should just have to say I think she's fat and homely—and I don't think I ought to say that, for it would be a downright fib. I don't think she's that at all!"
There was a general laugh at this; then, for a time, there was silence while the carriage rolled along the prairie road.
Carlos had no difficulty in finding the home of the Rev. Mr. Jones in Bolo. It proved to be a little house, unattractive, and very plain. It looked particularly forlorn with its bare little front yard, in which some one had made an attempt to raise nasturtiums and petunias.
"Mercy! I guess we'll have to stand up in corners to sleep," gurgled Tilly, as the carriage stopped before the side door.
"Sh-h!" warned Genevieve. "Tilly, isn't it awful? Only think of our Quentina's living here!"
At that moment the door of the little house opened, and Mr. Jones appeared. From around his feet there seemed literally to tumble out upon the steps several boys of "assorted sizes," as Tilly expressed it afterward. Then the girls saw her in the doorway—Quentina. She was slender, not very tall, but very pretty, with large, dark eyes, and fine yellow hair that fluffed and curled all about her forehead and ears and neck.
"O Happy Hexagons, Happy Hexagons, welcome, welcome, Happy Hexagons!" breathed the girl in the doorway ecstatically, clasping her hands.