“We have decided upon these pictures,” said Mrs. White at the first rehearsal, “and if any one is unwilling to take the part assigned we must simply look for substitutes.”

Roland was there, as Ned had promised, “spry and as pretty as ever.”  He appeared to “hang around Dorothy,” but she was too busy to notice the attention.  Tavia, however, did not miss observing the young man’s attempts to attract Dorothy, and she also noted that the same matter seemed distasteful to Ned.

Tom had a way of helping every one.  He laughed with all the girls, and had plenty of jollity left for the boys—­he was considered an “all-around good fellow.”  Naturally, Dorothy felt at ease with him, but Edith Brownlie made no pretense of hiding her intentions—­she wanted to be in a picture with Tom.

Agnes Sinclair, considered the richest girl in Ferndale, proposed “doing a picture” with Ned—­“The Maiden All Forlorn!”

To this Ned readily agreed, with the result that the rehearsal of the part caused no end of merriment.  Agnes was a jolly girl, and showed a decided preference for the White boys—­those from Ferndale never appeared to interest the wealthy Agnes.

When the rehearsal was finally over Dorothy was very tired, for she felt a personal interest in the affair, as it was almost entirely in Mrs. White’s hands.  The others had all congregated about Mrs. Brownlie’s tea-table, where that lady was dispensing the refreshing beverage, but Dorothy sank down for a few moments in a secluded corner of the parlor where the practice had been held.

Presently she thought she heard something stir near her, then she distinctly heard a sob.  Brushing aside the heavy portiere, Dorothy found little Mary Manning, her face hidden in her hands, and her whole slender form shaking convulsively.

“What is the matter, Mary dear?” asked Dorothy, her arms instantly about the little sufferer.

“Oh, I’m so unhappy!” sobbed Mary.  “I wanted a part and nobody thought of me.”

It then occurred to Dorothy that surely enough no one had thought of Mary, for from the time when the parts were given out until all the rehearsal was over Mary had never once either been seen or heard from.  She was poor, not pretty, and not popular, but since she belonged to the auxiliary it was certainly too bad to have overlooked her.

“Why, I guess no one saw you,” faltered Dorothy.  “You surely would have been given a part had auntie seen you.”

“Well, the girls looked—­so queer at me,” sobbed the miserable Mary.  “I felt I had to keep back.  But I do know how to play.  My own mother was a real actress.”

Dorothy looked down at the child in wonderment.  Mary’s mother an actress!  No one seemed to know who the child’s mother was, as she had always lived with the Mannings, an elderly couple.