"How queer! Is your father poor?" asked Di, with Yankee bluntness.
"We have enough," answered Sophie, slightly knitting her dark brows.
"How many servants do you keep?"
"But five, now that the little ones are grown up."
"Have you a piano?" continued undaunted Di, while the others affected to be looking at the books and pictures strewn about by the hasty unpacking.
"We have two pianos, four violins, three flutes, and an organ. We love music, and all play, from papa to little Franz."
"My gracious, how swell! You must live in a big house to hold all that and eight brothers and sisters."
"We are not peasants; we do not live in a hut. Voilà, this is my home." And Sophie laid before them a fine photograph of a large and elegant house on lovely Lake Geneva.
It was droll to see the change in the faces of the girls as they looked, admired, and slyly nudged one another, enjoying saucy Di's astonishment, for she had stoutly insisted that the Swiss girl was a poor relation.
Sophie meanwhile was folding up her plain piqué and muslin frocks, with a glimmer of mirthful satisfaction in her eyes, and a tender pride in the work of loving hands now far away.