y
about Bubbles."

"I am glad you like Mrs. Hardy," said her mother, "but the next time
Bubbles does wrong, I hope you will tell me, and not punish her
yourself. You must remember that she is only a little ignorant, colored
girl, and that it is no wonder she wants what you have, for you have
played with her, and been with her so much. Of course it was wrong for
her to take anything without leave. Were you and Florence good girls?"

"Yes, I think so. Mamma, what did Rock mean when he said he was more
likely to be my cousin than my brother?"

"Did he say that?" said Mrs. Dallas, smiling. "Well, so you are."

"Mamma, I don't understand."

"No. I know you don't. You will in a few days. Now go to bed."

"Florence," said Dimple, after they were in bed. "There is another
secret somewhere, and I cannot puzzle it out. Mamma wants Mrs. Hardy to
be fond of me, and Rock is likely to be my cousin, and all that."

"I can't imagine," answered Florence, sleepily.

"I don't see into it," said Dimple, after thinking a while. "Florence,
are you asleep?"

But Florence made no answer, having by that time arrived in dreamland,
and Dimple soon followed her, dreaming that she was feeding the little
wrens on croquettes, and was taking her doll to drive in California,
when a big tree came up to her, and insisted on shaking hands, because
it said it was her cousin. She laughed right out in her sleep, and
frightened a little mouse back into its hole.

* * * * *

When the two little girls ran down to breakfast the next morning, they
wore very happy faces, for Dimple had just discovered that her birthday
was only a week off, and she and Florence had been planning for it.

"Papa always does something very specially nice for me," Dimple had just
announced, "and I always have a lovely birthday-cake with icing and
candles. Mamma makes it herself, because I always think it tastes better
when she does. And she lets me choose what we are to have for dinner.
You tell what you like best, Florence, and we'll have that."

"I like fried chicken better than anything, except, of course, ice cream
and cake."

"So do I. I'm so glad you like what I do, and I'm very glad my birthday
is in June, for it is such a rosy month, and we can have strawberries
with the ice cream. There are so many good things to eat in June;
strawberries, and peas, and asparagus and--oh, I don't know what all."
This conversation took place befor