“Here’s one,” whispered Winona, slipping her own into Adelaide’s hand. “Now, tell me, dear. It isn’t very bad, is it? Maybe I could help.”
“You can’t!” said Adelaide fiercely, “and I won’t tell you a thing unless you promise not to.”
“All right,” said Winona cheerfully, “I promise.”
“I—I haven’t any party dress, and father can’t afford to get me one,” choked Adelaide, “and all I have is an old white lawn I wear afternoons, and it’s horrid. And—and, Winona Merriam, if you offer to loan me a dress I’ll never speak to you again!”
“I wasn’t going to,” comforted Winona, stroking poor sobbing Adelaide’s shoulder, while her own quick, friendly mind cast about for a way out.
For Adelaide must come to the dance, and evidently she wouldn’t borrow anything from anybody.
“Not borrow—how queer!” said Winona, voicing her thought. “Why, I don’t know any of the girls I wouldn’t borrow from, if I needed to, or they from me. Don’t you ever borrow anything, Adelaide—except trouble?”
“No, I don’t,” said Adelaide chokily but proudly. “It’s—it’s different when you have to!”
“I don’t see why!” said sunny, friendly-hearted Winona, who always took it for granted that she liked people, and of course that they would like her! She had never known what it was to be rich, but never either what it was to be painfully poor. “Well, let’s think of some other way. I suppose you haven’t time to earn the money for a dress for this party. Opeechee was telling us last week that we ought to try to earn so much money apiece, and that there were lots of ways for doing it.”
“No, there wouldn’t be time,” answered Adelaide mournfully; but she stopped crying and began to look interested.