"Oh, of course; we don't want any nasty, horrid girls like Kitty and Lena!"
"Now, Jennie, do you think that Dorcas would ever have been put in the Bible, if she had talked like that about her friends? Why, girls, you'll spoil the whole thing if you don't try to be like her! You're going to copy her, aren't you?"
"Course we are!" assents Pollie.
Betty mixes the cakes that very evening. She is not a good cook—does not like cooking, in fact; but somehow she is feeling very happy.
"The cakes must be as nice as I can make them. Ah! I must be sure to take a peep to-night into that book of father's, about God's brave Soldiers, in the far-off days when Dorcas really lived; then I shall be able to talk about it all to the girls to-morrow and interest them.
"If I could only help Jennie and Pollie to understand; if I could really bring them nearer to the Lord; Oh, what a happy, what a truly blessed thing that would be!"
The next afternoon is hot again, but there is shade in the dingy garden. A semicircle of chairs has been arranged, and Jennie and Pollie, looking unusually clean and tidy, with sweet-faced Minnie White, and Millie and Ida Davis, are industriously stitching away. It is a critical moment, for "Dorcas," that is, Betty, has just left them alone.
"What horrid clumsy stitches you are putting in that handkerchief, Pollie," cries Jennie.
"They're quite as good as yours!" snaps Pollie.
"They're not!"