I was not offended. But I did not laugh. The girl who had spoken last was something of a tomboy, and looked upon also as a wit. Her name was Josephine Mellor, and her intimate friends called her Joe. She had very fuzzy red hair, and rather good brown eyes.
"I say," she went on again, "what is your name? And are you going to stay to dinner every day, or only when it rains, like Lizzie Burt?"
Who was Lizzie Burt? That question nearly set my ideas adrift again. But the consciousness of my superior position fortunately kept me to the point.
"I am going to be at dinner always," I said proudly. "I am a boarder."
The girls drew a little nearer, with evidently increased interest.
"A boarder," repeated Josephine. "Then Harriet Smith'll have to give up being baby. You're ever so much younger than her, I'm sure."
"What are you saying about me?" said Harriet, who had caught the sound of her own name, as one often does.
"Only that that pretty snub nose of yours is going to be put out of joint," said Miss Mellor mischievously.
Harriet came rushing forward. She was my rosy-cheeked girl! Her face was redder than usual. I felt very vexed with Miss Mellor, even though I did not quite understand her.
"What are you saying?" the child called out. "I'm not going to have any of your teasing, Joe."