"Sallie, Matilda," she exclaimed, eagerly, "you must tell. Have I done anything? Have I hurt your feelings?"
"No; oh, no, indeed!" answered Sallie, turning quickly to her friend. "It's nothing that you have anything to do with." She cast a quick glance down at her own dress, eager to know whether Hatty had also condemned it as low and vulgar; but her friend said, still more earnestly,—
"Tell me all about it, can't you? Do you know I begin to be jealous of Matilda? You have told her all your troubles."
"No, indeed! Matilda told me,—I"—
There was another pinch of the arm, and she stopped suddenly.
"Well, good-bye, then; I wish you were going my way: but I have the brook for company."
Then she laughingly waved her adieu, calling out after they were at some distance, "I've finished all those hard sums."
"What a girl Hatty is," exclaimed Sallie. "I wish I were always as happy as she is. I don't believe she ever cried in her life."
"Yes, she's gay," answered Matilda, "and good company; but still I do like people that have some feeling. She laughs a good deal. She knows that's her best look. She's awful proud of her white teeth."
"Now, Matilda, that's too bad! I don't believe she ever thinks of that in all her life. She laughs because she's happy; and, as for feeling, I think she has more than any of us. She's the best friend I have, any way. I never get angry when I'm with her."