"My sister Beatrice, Mr. Tayloe," she would say. Perhaps he would answer, "I hope she is as intelligent and industrious as her sister."
Flea's was a generous nature, but she did feel that that would pay off Bea well for certain things she had said to her in days past. As for Dee, who was dull at his lessons, her heart warmed and yearned over him in the thought of the good she could do him through her influence with the teacher. Mr. Tayloe looked as if he might be severe with a dull pupil. She would stand between Dee and trouble. He was such a loving little fellow, and her best crony, even if he did not care for books.
Bea was going to wear a white frock to school if the weather were warm enough. Flea's frock, a brown calico with round white spots on it, with an apron of the same, was new and strong and clean. As the prize scholar she could afford to be indifferent to dress. One of these days she would make people who now laughed at her plain clothes open their eyes with her satins—and—laces—and—India cotton stockings—and—oh yes! the pink sash should be just the color of a peach blossom—and—have—fringed—
Flea was clean off to Slumberland, where nobody expects to dream of sensible and probable happenings.