Mrs. Smith found her crying one day when she came upon her suddenly in the hammock on the Clarks' veranda.
"Can I help?" she asked softly, leaning over the small figure whose every movement indicated protest.
"No, you can't," came back the fierce retort. "You're one of 'em. You don't know."
"Don't know what?"
"How I feel. Nobody likes me. Miss Clark just told me to go out of her room."
"Why were you in her room?"
"Why, shouldn't I go into her room? When I woke up this morning I made up my mind I'd do my best to be nice all day long. They're so old I don't know what to talk to 'em about, but I made up my mind I'd stick around 'em even if I didn't know what to say. Right after breakfast they always go upstairs—I think it's to be rid of me—and they don't come down for an hour, and then they bring down their knitting and their embroidery and they sit around all day long except when that Belgian baby that lives at your house comes in—then they get up and try to play with her."
Mrs. Smith smiled, remembering the efforts of the two old ladies to play with "Ayleesabet." Mary noticed the smile.
"They do look fools, don't they?" she cried eagerly.
"I think they look very dear and sweet when they are playing with Ayleesabet. I was not smiling at them but because I sympathized with their enjoyment of the baby."