"I was wishing I were grown-up, really grown-up," she said; "I did my hair up to see how I looked. I tried to do it like your mother does hers."
Alma stroked her head gently.
"My mother is in love with you," she said. "She has just been saying all sorts of beautiful things about you. She says she wishes you were her daughter."
"Oh!" said Dot. "Her daughter! How I wish I were!"—and no disloyalty to her own mother was meant. "To live here always! To be rich! To——"
She paused. "Oh, Alma," she added, "you are a lucky girl."
But Alma only sighed.
Dot began to think again, comparing in her own mind this home of Alma's with her own little bush home.
"Oh!" she said at last; "How happy you ought to be. How would you like to change places with me!"
And to her surprise Alma burst into tears, covering her face with her little trembling hands.
Gentle ways belonged to Dorothea.