loretta.

"I know it's funny," said Dorothy, "but I don't think you ought to."

"Well, _you_ needn't. P'raps you couldn't do it just like other folks,
but I _can_, and I'm going to!" said Floretta.

She was a handsome child, but her boldness marred her beauty.

She was, indeed, a clever imitator, but she had been told so too often.
Her mother constantly praised her cleverness, and unwise friends
applauded her efforts, until Floretta acquired the idea that she must,
on all occasions, mimic some one.

Sometimes those whom she mocked thought it clever, and laughed when they
had thus been held up to derision.

At other times Floretta found that she had chosen the wrong person to
mimic, and had received a sharp rebuke.

This taught her nothing, however.

She thought any one who did not enjoy her antics must be very
ill-natured, while her silly mother considered that Floretta had been
abused.

While Dorothy and Nancy were talking with Floretta, they were picking
large bouquets of bluebells and a tiny white flower that grew as
abundantly as the bluebells, and blossomed as freely.

It pleased her, for the moment, to gather some of the blossoms, and soon
the three were too busy to talk, each trying to see which could gather
the largest bouquet.

On the hotel piazza Mrs. Paxton sat, occupied with her embroidery, but
not too busy to talk. She was _never_ too busy to talk, if she could
find any one to listen.

Near her sat two ladies who had just arrived, and old Mr. Cunningham,
who frowned darkly at the magazine that he was trying to read.

It was not that the story displeased him that he frowned, but that he
was bored with hearing what Mrs. Paxton was saying, mainly because she
always said the same thing.

"You see, with our wealth and position, it is impossible that little
Floretta should ever make any use of her talents for any purpose other
than the amusement of her friends," she said.

One of the two ladies, whose fine face and sweet low voice bespoke
refinement, looked fixedly at Mrs. Paxton, and wondered that any woman
should be willing to boast so foolishly.

The other, whose garments told of a great love of display, seemed
interested, and even impressed.

"What is her especial talent?" she asked, "I really should like to know.
Is she musical?"

"O dear, yes," Mrs. Paxton hastened to reply; "she plays delightfully,
and she has a voice that is really quite unusual for a child; she
dances, too, but he