“I know,” said Sibyl in a humble tone. “I couldn’t make it look all right; but Betty took me behind a screen, and managed it in a twinkling, and put a white sash round my waist, and—oh, I felt nice anyhow!”
“I am glad you felt nice,” said Fanny, “for I can assure you it was more than you looked.”
“Oh Fanny, don’t hurt me! You know I can’t afford very pretty dresses like you. We are rather poor at home, and there are so many of us.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, child; only, haven’t you a grain of sense? Don’t you know perfectly well why Betty wanted you to wear the wreath of marguerites?”
“Just because she was sweet,” said Sibyl, “and she thought I’d look really nice in them.”
“That is all you know! Now, recall something, Sibyl.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember when you saw Betty stoop over that broken stump of the old oak and take something out?”
“Of course I do,” said Sibyl. “It was a piece of wood. I found it the next day.”