Grandfather hunted up Helen Loiter, a pretty little black haired girl and Frances Westland to whom Mary Jane took a fancy at once.  She wore a plain little white dress and a big blue hair ribbon and seemed so kind and pleasant to the little stranger.  Helen, on the other hand, was dressed in a much trimmed and be-ruffled frock and seemed to feel far too dressed up to be natural.

“I’m going to get you girls your berries,” said Grandfather, as he settled them at a table over to one side where they could sit as long as they liked and eat and visit, “and if you want more cake, just let me know.”

“Let’s hurry and eat this up so he’ll get us some more,” said Helen.  “I’ve got a dime of my own and if he gets us another dish, that’ll make three times!”

“Oh, let’s eat slow and talk,” said Frances, “no use hurrying, maybe we won’t want three dishes.  Is your mother here, too, Mary Jane?”

“No,” answered Mary Jane, “but my sister’s coming next week and my mother’s coming before very long after that.”

“Why didn’t you bring your best dress so you could wear it to-night?” demanded Helen as she took a big bite of berries.  “I should think you’d like a pretty dress for tonight!”

“This is my best dress,” said Mary Jane in amazement, “it’s my very best dress and my best hair ribbon and everything!”

“Well, I don’t think it looks like it,” said Helen, scornfully, “it hasn’t a single ruffle and not one bit of lace!  I guess your father must be pretty poor!”

Mary Jane looked at Helen’s be-ruffled frock that was trimmed and trimmed with yards of cheap lace and then she looked at her own dress, so plain and neat with only a bit of hand embroidery for its ornament.  Then she looked at Frances’ dress that was more like her own.  And a queer feeling of lonesomeness—­a lonesomeness that she hadn’t felt since the rainy day so long ago, began to come over her.

But before she had time to think of an answer, Frances spoke up.  “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Helen Loiter!  Talking that way to Mrs. Hodges’s little girl!  I guess folks can dress as they please without asking you!  My dress isn’t fancy either and my father’s got as much money as yours has, so there!”

Mary Jane looked at Frances admiringly and felt much better.

“How old are you?” continued Frances, turning her attention pointedly to Mary Jane.

“I’m five,” replied Mary Jane, “how old are you?”

“I’m seven, only I’m not very big for seven so you wouldn’t guess it,” said Frances, “do you go to school?”

“No, not yet,” answer Mary Jane, “but I’m going to some day.”

“Of course you are, stupid!” said Helen, “everybody does!  Well, I’m bigger’n you are.  I’m eight and I’m in second grade!  So there!” And she polished out the bottom of her dish with her spoon.  “I guess your grandfather’s forgotten all about getting us some more cake—­I’m going to get some for myself.  You two slow pokes can sit around and wait if you want to.  I’ll not!” And she flounced herself out of her chair and ran over to the cake table.