About half-past seven came supper, and after supper prayers, and after prayers bed, and an interesting conversation with the three room-mates.
“Which is the nicest girl in the school?” Pixie asked, going at once to the most important point, and fondly hoping that she might listen to her own name by way of answer. She was doomed to disappointment, however, for though there was a difference of opinion, her name was not even mentioned.
“Margaret!” said Kate.
“Lottie!” cried Flora.
“Clara!” cried Ethel; and they proceeded to argue the question between themselves.
“Margaret is an angel. She is sweet to everyone. She never says an unkind word.”
“Lottie is so bright and clever. She is first in almost every single class.”
“Clara is so sensible. She doesn’t make a fuss, and gush over everything, as Lottie does; but if she says she will be your friend, she keeps her word, and always tries to do you a good turn.”
“That’s the way with meself,” said Pixie modestly. “I’m the soft-heartedest creature! You three girls are me best friends because ye share me room, and I’ll stick to you, whatever trouble ye’re in. Ye need never be afraid to come to me, for the worse ye are, the better I’ll like ye!”
“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed Kate shrilly. Flora chuckled to herself in fat, good-natured fashion, and Ethel tossed her mane and said—