He asked Dorothea if she were going away for Christmas and the holidays, and Dorothea shook her golden head and said, "No; she was going to stay at home."

Whereupon he asked Alma if she wouldn't like to carry her "dearest friend" up the mountains with her, and Alma went quite pink with delight and said--

"Oh, Father! Oh, Thea _dear_!"

And Dot raised her pretty shy eyes and said--

"Oh, Alma!" and then looked at Mrs. Montague as if to ask if such happiness was possible.

Mrs. Montague laughed.

"I will write and ask your mother," she said, "but we really can't take 'no.'" And she said it so graciously that the tears came into Alma's eyes.

"It would be _too_ lovely!" said Dot breathlessly.

On Sunday afternoon, just as the evening shadows were stealing out and the daylight was growing grey, Alma ran into the little blue sitting-room, her great eyes luminous.

"Oh, Thea _darling!_" she said, and then she stopped in surprise. Only a little while ago Dot had tripped upstairs, her hair in a golden plait down her back, her dress not so low as her boot-tops by quite three inches.

And now! She was sitting in an easy chair, her dress skirt lowered till it reached the floor, her hair loosely done up on the top of her head, her blue, blue eyes staring through the windows to the darkening harbour waters, afar off.

She blushed rosily red when Alma ran in.

"I--I was just thinking," she said.

"What were you thinking of, Thea?" asked Alma, "and what have you done your hair like this for? You _do_ look so pretty--I wish the girls could see you."

Dot pulled her friend towards her and patted the arm of her chair for her to sit there. Then she leaned her head upon Alma's shoulder and held one of her hands between her own two.

"I was _wishing_ I were grown-up, really grown-up," she said; "I did my hair up to see how I looked. I tried to do it like your mother does hers."

Alma stroked her head gently.

"My mother is in love with you," she said. "She has just been saying all sorts of _beautiful_ things about you. She says she wishes you were her daughter."

"Oh!" said Dot. "Her daughter! How I _wish_ I were!"--and no disloyalty to her own mother was meant. "To live here always! To be rich! To----"

She paused. "Oh, Alma," she added, "you _are_ a lucky girl."

But Alma only sighed.

Dot began to think again, comparing in her own mind this home of Alma's with her own little bush home.

"Oh!" she said at last; "How happy you ought to be. How would you like to change places with me!"

And to her surprise Alma burst into tears, covering her face with her little trembling hands.

Gentle ways belonged to Dorothea.

She stood up and put her friend into her chair and then she knelt beside her, and slipped her arm round her waist.

"_Dearest_ Alma!" she whispered.

"Oh," sobbed Alma, "if only you were my _very_ own sister Thea--I _couldn't_ love you more. I'm _so_ lonely. Father is always busy, and mother--mother is disappointed in me."

Dot opened her eyes in surprise. She had never dreamed of a mother being _disappointed_ in her child.

"I'm not pretty--or clever--or _any_thing," sobbed Alma. "She's always been disappointed in me--ever since I was a tiny baby--and I've always known it--and--and--she doesn't know I know. Oh dear!"

Dot was shocked. "Darling Alma!" she said again.

"It's dreadful to be the only child--and to be a disappointment," said Alma. "I think father is sorry for us both."

Dot stroked the girl's straight hair.

"You've got lovely eyes," she said, "and you're very clever at crotchet work."

"What's that!" said Alma drearily. "Mother wouldn't mind if I never touched a needle. She says if a girl hasn't beauty she has only one other chance in the world--and that is to be brilliant. I _do_ try to be clever--but it's no good."

Dot kissed her.

"When you are grown up you'll look different," she said. "You'll wear long trailing dresses--and--do your hair like this--and----"

But Alma sprang to her feet.

"What a croaker I am," she said. "I _never_ told this to any one before. Thea--it is my very _biggest_ secret. You'll never tell any one, will you? Never! never! Father says if I'm good I'll be beautiful enough for _him_. But oh, I wish I were you!"

"And _I've_ been wishing I were you," said Dot.

"I suppose," said Alma, with one of her most wistful looks, "I suppose we're _meant_ to be ourselves for some reason. And we must make the best of ourselves just as we are!"

And the two girls kissed each other tenderly.

"I've to be an elder sister," said Dot, with a sudden thought towards Mona Parbury.

"And I've to be an only child," said Alma, "and we've both to make the best of our state of life--eh?"

CHAPTER XIV

JOHN'S PLANS

On Monday morning Betty took the road to school with running feet. A fear was at her heart that John Brown had set out upon his expedition into the world this day. Had gone--and left her behind! Had begun "life"

and left her at school!