uld do that if I wanted to, but I don't want to."

"Well, I think I'll go to see her, anyway. If she's so smart it would be
nice to have her in the Closing Day exercises. I s'pose she'll come to
school here."

"Of course, you can do as you like, Celia, but I think it's too late to
get any new girls in now."

Dolly went on to the schoolroom, her heart full of resentment at this
"smart" interloper. It was a little bit a feeling of jealousy, for Dolly
Fayre was head and front of everything that went on at the Berwick
Grammar School, and it jarred a little to think of having a wonder-girl
come in with a lot of new ideas and plans and mix everything all up at
the last minute.

But don't get any mistaken idea that Dolly Fayre was a mean-minded or
small-natured girl. On the contrary, she was generosity itself in all
her dealings with her schoolmates. Every one liked her, and with good
reason, for she never quarrelled, and was always happy and smiling.

But the Rose girl had acted queer from the first, and Dolly couldn't
admit the desirability of bringing her into their already arranged
"Closing Exercises." These were so important as to be almost sacred
rites, and as usual Dolly was at the head of all the committees, and her
word was law.

She went home from school that afternoon, thinking about it, and her
pretty face looked very sober as she went in the house and put her
school-books neatly away in their place.

"There's some lemonade and cookies on the sideboard," said her mother as
Dolly went through the hall.

"All right, Mumsie," and somehow, after these refreshments had been
absorbed, Dolly felt better, and life seemed to have a brighter outlook.

She took an unfinished story-book and picked up her white kitten, and
went out to the side verandah, her favourite spot of a warm afternoon.

"You see, Flossy," she whispered, addressing the kitten, "I want you
with me, 'cause I'm buffled to-day." Dolly was in the habit of making up
words, if she couldn't think of any to suit her, and just at the moment
_buffled_ seemed to her to mean a general state of being ruffled, and
buffeted and rebuffed and generally huffy.

"And you well know, Floss, that when I feel mixy-up, there's nothing so
comforting and soothing as a nice little, soft little, cuddly little
kitty-cat."

Flossy blinked her eyes, and purred gently, and was just as comforting
as she could be, which is saying a good deal.

There was a big, wide swing on