ng business of holding the pink frock before
the glass to make sure that the color was becoming, when she was
suddenly arrested by the sound of a sob, and she turned to see Harriet
throw herself across the bed and clutch the pillow in a storm of
weeping. Patty stared with wide-open eyes; she herself did not indulge
in such emotional demonstrations, and she could not imagine any possible
cause. She moved the pink satin slippers out of reach of Harriet's
thrashing feet, gathered up the fallen elephant and scattered
chocolates, and sat down to wait until the cataclysm should pass.

"What's the matter?" she mildly inquired, when Harriet's sobs gave place
to choking gasps.

"My father never sent me any s-silver b-buckles."

"He's way off in Mexico," said Patty, awkwardly groping for consolation.

"He never sends me anything! He doesn't even know me. He wouldn't
recognize me if he met me on the street."

"Oh, yes, he would," Patty assured her with doubtful comfort. "You
haven't changed a bit in four years."

"And he wouldn't like me if he did know me. I'm not pretty, and my
clothes are never nice, and--" Harriet was off again.

Patty regarded her for a moment of thoughtful silence, then she decided
on a new tack. She stretched out a hand and shook her vigorously.

"For goodness' sake, stop crying! That's what's the matter with your
father. No man can stand having tears dripped down his neck all the
time."

Harriet arrested her sobs to stare.

"If you could see the way you look when you cry! Sort of streaked. Come
here!" She took her by the shoulder and faced her before the mirror.
"Did you ever see such a fright? And I was just thinking, before you
began, about how pretty you looked. I was, honestly. You could be as
pretty as any of the rest of us, if you'd only make up your mind--"

"No, I couldn't! I'm just as ugly as I can be. Nobody likes me and--"

"It's your own fault!" said Patty sharply. "If you were fat, like Irene
McCullough, or if you didn't have any chin like Evalina Smith, there
might be some reason, but there isn't anything on earth the matter with
you, except that you're so _damp_! You cry all the time, and it gets
tiresome to be forever sympathizing. I'm telling you the truth because
I'm beginning to like you. There's never any use bothering to tell
people the truth when you don't like them. The reason Conny and Pris and
I get on so well together, is because we always tell each other the
exact tr