a truer well-wisher than your friend. MARIA M'COSH"
"She used to call me 'Felicia,' she calls me 'Miss Felicia' now," mused the little girl; "I suppose that's because things have changed for me lately, as she says. She seems to have been very pleased with her hamper; I'm so glad grandfather told me to send it. It was kind of Mr. M'Cosh to cut the grass on mother's grave. What is it Mrs. M'Cosh says, that mother's gone to a world where she's better off than the richest of us here? Oh, I'm sure of that! But I am glad she wrote it, and reminded me that mother would wish me to be happy—happy and good."
[CHAPTER XV]
Under the Arbutus Tree
"MOLLY, what have I done to offend Doris?" asked Felicia of her younger cousin one Saturday afternoon a few weeks later. "She treats me as though I had injured her in some way; haven't you noticed it?"
"Yes," admitted Molly reluctantly; "it's very unkind of her, and foolish too, but Doris is like that."
"Like what?" demanded Felicia in bewilderment. "Do tell me what you mean, for I haven't the least idea what I have done to annoy her. I'm sure I wouldn't put her out if I could help it."
The two little girls—devoted friends they were now—had established themselves on the seat under the arbutus tree in the Priory garden, with Lion stretched at their feet, asleep. Doris had been asked to accompany her sister, but she had declined to do so; she had enough of Felicia's society on working days, she had said, without wanting to spend the weekly holiday with her, too.
"I think she is jealous of you, Felicia," Molly said gravely, with a sigh and a troubled expression creeping into her clear eyes.
"Oh, Molly! Because you and I are such great friends?"