Daisy still looked very doubtful, and Maud began to object to being left behind, but Dulcie was firm, and Molly also proved equal to the occasion. So the question was settled, and the two younger children comfortably ensconced under a big apple-tree, while Dulcie and Daisy walked up the wide gravelled path to the house. It was not a large house, but a very pretty one. There was a lawn, with flower beds in front, and the children caught glimpses of a stable and other outbuildings in the rear. There was no one to be seen, but as they approached the house, the sound of a piano could be distinctly heard.
“Somebody’s practising exercises,” whispered Dulcie. “Perhaps it’s the lady of the house.”
“There’s a doll’s carriage on the piazza,” said Daisy, “so there must be a little girl.”
“I’m glad,” said Dulcie, with a great effort to speak cheerfully. “If the people have a little girl of their own, it may make them kinder to other little girls. I’ve been thinking about our names. I don’t want to change them any more than I can help; it doesn’t seem quite honest. I don’t see how I can very well change Dulcie into anything but Delia, but you can be Margaret, which is your real name, anyhow, and Molly can be Mary. I’ll have to decide about Maud later, but I think our last name had better be Smith. When people in books change their names, they nearly always call themselves Smith or Brown.”
Daisy opened her lips to protest, but at that moment the sound of the piano ceased, and in another moment the front door opened, and a very pretty little girl of eight or nine came out onto the piazza. She was so pretty that Dulcie and Daisy stopped short in the path, and stood gazing at her in undisguised admiration. She had big brown eyes, and long golden curls, and she was dressed in white, and wore a string of gold beads round her neck. Altogether, she looked so much like the picture of a little princess in one of their fairy books that Dulcie and Daisy fairly gasped.
As for the stranger herself, she did not seem in the least surprised, but smiled a bright, welcoming smile, and came running down the steps to greet the visitors.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come,” she cried, joyfully. “Mamma said she thought you might come to-day, but I didn’t expect you quite so early. It’s all right, though; I’ve finished my practicing. I did a whole half-hour since breakfast. Mamma says that’s quite enough in summer. Won’t you come up on the piazza?”
To say that the two little Winslows were surprised at the cordiality of this greeting would be but a poor way of expressing their feelings. Indeed, they were so much astonished as to be, for the first moment, quite deprived of the power of speech. Then Dulcie found her voice, and managed to gasp out:
“You—you were expecting us!”
“I wasn’t exactly expecting you,” the stranger explained, “because your mother didn’t positively tell Mamma you would come to-day, but I hoped you would, because I don’t know any of the children here yet, and I’m so anxious to have somebody to play with.”