He had Allan and that big, stupid Fred—for Dot, for once in his sweet life, was decidedly cross. And then he confided to me that he loved Carrie very much, but not half so well as he loved me. He wished Mr. Lucas had taken her instead. She was very nice and very pretty, and all that, and why hadn't he?
But here I thought it high time to interpose.
"But, Dot, I should not have liked that at all. And I am so happy," I whispered.
"You love him—that old, old man, Essie!" in unmitigated astonishment.
"He is not old at all," I returned, indignantly; for, in spite of his iron-gray hair, Mr. Lucas could hardly be forty, and was still a young-looking man.
Dot gave a wicked little smile at that. In his present mood he rather enjoyed vexing me.
I got him in a better frame of mind by-and-by. I hardly knew what I said, but I kissed him, and cried and told him how unhappy he made me, and how pleased mother and Carrie and Jack were; and after that he left off saying sharp things, and treated me to a series of penitent hugs, and promised that he would not be cross with "my little girl" Flurry; for after that day he always persisted in calling her "my little girl."
Dot had been a little exhausting, so I went down to the bench near the fernery to cool myself and secure a little quiet, and there Ruth found me. I saw her coming over the grass with outstretched hands, and such a smile on her dear face; and though I was so shy that I could scarcely greet her, I could feel by the way she kissed me how glad—how very glad—she was.
"Dear Esther! My dear new sister!" she whispered.
"Oh, Ruth, is it true?" I returned, blushing. "Last night it seemed real, but this morning I feel half in a dream. It will do me good to know that you are really pleased about this."