By this time other voices were chanting Milly's praises, and Adelaide turned reluctantly away, remarking, "Well, if you enjoy that sort of thing, you are welcome to it. I should not be surprised, by the way they are loading it on, if they knew we were here."

They did not know it, for at that instant Cynthia Vaughn spoke up again, "I don't see what they find to admire in that pokey Lib Smith."

"I should think Milly would be ashamed to be seen with her," said another; "her dresses always remind me of a chicken with its head through a hole in a salt-bag."

Adelaide sprang forward with flashing eyes to confront the speaker, but this time it was I who held her back. "Let them say their say," I whispered, hoarsely, while Milly cowered, trembling. "I believe her mother makes her dresses at home," said Witch Winnie; "and, as she can't have Tib to try them on, she fits them on her grandfather."

There was a hearty laugh at this sally, and another added: "I don't see how Adelaide can endure her, she is so stingy. Have you noticed that the girls place a fresh bouquet at her plate every morning? and I never could find out that she ever gave either of them so much as a single flower."

Adelaide nearly writhed herself from my grasp, but I held her tightly. "Milly," she gasped, "are you a coward, to stand there and hear our friend reviled so? Can't you stop them?"

The blood surged into Milly's pale cheeks, and she sprang before the curtain. "Girls," she cried, "how can you talk so? Nellie Smith is our dearest friend. She is not one bit stingy; she gives us more than we have ever given her. Because she does not parade her presents on the breakfast-table is no reason that she has not given me lots and lots of things, and no girl can consider herself my friend who talks so about our darling Tib."

Here Milly broke down in tears, and Witch Winnie exclaimed, "Good for you, Milly Roseveldt; I didn't know you had so much spunk!" But at this point we all fled to the Amen Corner, and bolted the door, refusing to admit Witch Winnie, who impulsively shouted her apologies through the keyhole.

"Oh, Milly!" I cried, "what made you tell a lie for me? I never gave you a thing." And I might have added, "How could I, when my allowance for spending-money is hardly sufficient to keep me in slate-pencils?"

But Milly stopped my mouth with kisses, and pointed to sundry original works of art with which I had decorated her apartment, and declared, besides, that helping her on that last horrid composition was a greater gift than all the roses in Le Moult's greenhouse.