“Nonsense,” exclaimed Billie. “Can’t one girl lend another a few clothes without its being called ‘favors’? I shouldn’t hesitate to borrow from you, Phoebe, if I were—well—in your situation. And it seems to me that this dress would be very becoming to you. It suits your complexion better than mine because it matches your cheeks. I usually wear blue but I was over-persuaded by Nancy-Bell to get pink.”
In the end, Phoebe was induced to put on the pink dress. It had been wonderful enough to wear a neatly fitted duck skirt and a lace-trimmed blouse, but in this embroidered linen frock the color of wild roses Phoebe was in a dream.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, glancing at her flushed image in the mirror, “I never understood that clothes would make so much difference. I feel like someone else.” She looked down at her white canvas pumps, which were, as a matter of fact, a shade too long for her, although she had run barefoot over the mountains. “And my feet look really small.”
When Billy placed on her head a white Panama hat trimmed with a broad band of black velvet, Phoebe’s eyes filled with tears.
“Am I Phoebe?” she ejaculated. “Phoebe without a name, who lives in a log house? Oh, Miss Campbell——”
“Not Miss Campbell,” interrupted Billie. “You must call me Billie. Aren’t you my guest and almost the same age? Besides, I never recognize myself with ‘Miss’ tucked on before my name.”
“Billie, then,” went on Phoebe, blushing because she had never known a girl before to call by the first name. “Do you think it is right that I should dress up so beautifully when—when my father is hidden away somewhere?”
“But I feel perfectly sure he is safe,” said Billie. “Perhaps someone has told him it would be safer to keep away for a while.”
“But why? He has never injured anyone in his life.”
“It is all Lupo’s doings and that is one reason why we want you to go with us down to the village and show yourself, so that they can see you have a number of very good friends to look after your interests.”