CHAPTER IV.
Forgetful of everything disagreeable, Hope stood in her corner for the last time, softly humming the sweet little strain she had heard from the good little fiddle. She was earlier than usual,—ten, fifteen minutes earlier. "Tum, tum, ti tum," she was softly humming, when—
"Do you stay here all day?" asked a clear, confident voice. She turned her head, and there stood that girl,—Dolly Dering.
"No," answered Hope, politely, to this question, but with a coldness and distance of manner that was meant to check all further questioning. But Dolly Dering wasn't easily checked.
"My sister says that you live in Riverview, and that you get your flowers in Riverview woods," was her next questioning remark.
"Yes."
"What other kinds of flowers are you going to sell when these arbutus are gone?"
"I'm not going to sell any."
"Why not?"
"Because I—I don't want to."