y. Then the bell rang for luncheon.

Dolly started for the house, but unable to resist a final impulse, she
glanced again at the girl in the window.

The girl shook her head at her! It was a quick, saucy, sideways shake,
as if Dolly had asked her something and she had refused. The pretty face
looked pettish, and the black eyes snapped as she vigorously shook her
curly head.

"Pooh!" said Dolly to herself; "wait till you're asked, miss! I don't
want anything of you!"

Dolly went into the house and at the lunch table, she told her mother
and Trudy of the girl's actions.

"I thought she looked saucy," said Trudy, and the subject was dropped.

* * * * *

In the meantime the girl next door had drawn in her feet and jumped down
from the window.

"What a funny lunch!" she exclaimed, as she ran into the dining-room.
"Looks good, though," and she sat down on a packing-box, and took the
plate her mother offered.

"Yes, it's a sort of picnic," said Mrs. Rose; "everything's cold, but it
does taste good!"

The dining-room was unfurnished; though the table and chairs were in it,
they were still burlapped, and the barrels of dishes were not yet
unpacked. Mrs. Rose and her sister, Mrs. Bayliss, sat on packing-boxes
too, and made merry at their own discomfort.

"Seems 'sif we'd never get straightened out," said Mrs. Rose, taking
another sandwich on her plate, "but I s'pose we will. It's always like
this when you move. Thank goodness, George is coming home early,--he's
such a help."

"Yes, he is," agreed Mrs. Bayliss; "what lovely fresh radishes! I'll
take some more. Do you know any one at all in Berwick, Molly?"

"No one at all. George liked the place, and he bought this house from an
agent. But I shan't hasten to make acquaintances. I believe in going
slow in such matters. The neighbours will probably call after a few
weeks, and then we'll see what they're like. The people next door have
lovely curtains. I think you can judge a lot by curtains. And their
whole place has a well-kept air. Perhaps they'll prove pleasant
neighbours. Their name is Fayre."

"I saw the little girl out on the verandah," said Dotty Rose, between
two bites of her sandwich. "She has yellow hair and blue eyes. But I
don't like her."

"Why, Dotty, how you talk!" exclaimed her aunt; "how can you like her or
dislike her, when you don't know her?"

"She's a prig; I can see that, Aunt Clara. I can tell by the way she