"Why, so will I! Isn't that funny! What day is your birthday?"

"The tenth."

"Mine's the twentieth. We're almost twins. And our names are quite
alike, too. Mine's Dorothy, really, but they all call me Dotty."

"And mine's Dorinda, but I'm called Dolly."

"And we both have brothers at school, and we each have a sister."

"But mine is a big sister and yours is a little sister."

"Yes, but we have as many differences as we have likenesses. You're so
fair, and--why, your name is Fayre!"

Dolly laughed. "Yes, and you're so rosy and your name is Rose!"

"Dotty Rose and Dolly Fayre! We ought to be friends. Shall we?"

Dolly hesitated. She was too honest to pretend to a liking she didn't
quite feel. She looked squarely at Dotty Rose, and said,
straightforwardly, "What made you scowl at me that first day you came?"

"I didn't!" and Dotty Rose opened her brown eyes in astonishment.

"Yes, you did; and you shook your head at me when I smiled to you. You
were sitting in a window, with your legs hanging out."

"Sitting where! Oh, I remember! Why, I didn't scowl at _you_, it was
because Aunt Clara called me to come in out of that window. And I didn't
want to, so I scowled. I've a fearful temper. And then, she told me
again to come in, and I shook my head. I wasn't shaking it at _you_!
Why, I didn't know you then!"

Dolly drew a long breath. "Then that's all right! I thought you scowled
because I smiled at you, and it made me mad. All right, I'll be friends
with you. I'd like to. I think you're real nice."

"So do I you!"

CHAPTER III

THE NEW ROOMS

In the cushioned swing on the Fayres' verandah the two girls sat.

An artist would have stopped to admire the picture. Dorinda, her pink
and white face framed in its golden halo of curlilocks, her light blue
frock, neat and smooth, was calmly and daintily nibbling at a piece of
cake, catching the crumbs carefully as they fell.

Beside her, Dorothy was rapidly munching her cake as she talked, and
letting the crumbs fall where they might. Her black hair framed her rosy
cheeks and her eyes snapped and sparkled as she gesticulated with both
hands. It was Dorothy's habit to emphasise her remarks with expressive
little motions, and her father often said that if her hands were tied
behind her, she couldn't say a word!

Her pink lawn dress was rather tumbled by reason of her wriggling and
jumping about, but Dorothy's frocks were rarely unrumpled after she had
h