"A great deal better than a fair, and more fun," said Louise.
In the pretty room which belonged to Bess and Louise sat a busy group one afternoon. Its owners were occupied with a tall scrap basket that was intended for Uncle William and Aunt Marcia. Aunt Zélie had donated the ribbons to trim it, and they were anxious to have it as handsome as possible. Helen and Carl were there too, the one making a bonnet for her doll, the other pasting in his scrap-book, sitting on the floor with a newspaper spread out before him. Dora had received a warm welcome when she came in with her work, as she often did. They all agreed in thinking that she could not come too often, and to Dora life in that house was a sort of enchantment. It seemed brighter, roomier, pleasanter there than anywhere else.
Her young friends did not dream of the cares already resting on her shoulders: the effort to cheer her mother, who was fast becoming an invalid, the life in the large boarding-house that neither of them liked.
"Do you think it will be pretty?" Bess asked, holding her basket at arm's length to see the effect of the golden-brown ribbon she was weaving in and out through the straw.
"It is a beauty," answered Dora admiringly.
"Yes, it is pretty, really," said Louise, whose fingers were trying to fashion what she called a stylish bow.
"Girls are funny, always sticking bows on things," observed Carl.
"If it is funny to like to make things look pretty, I am glad I am funny," said Dora severely.
"Dear me! Of course, I was not objecting in the least," replied the young gentleman, who rather enjoyed being taken to task by Dora.
"I am sorry to break up this pleasant party, but I am afraid I must," Aunt Zélie said, coming in.