"Annie May hasn't any politeness; she didn't introduce her to more than one or two people. Think of being at a big party like that and not knowing anyone!"

"That is not a proper way in which to speak of your hostess, my son," said Mr. Hazeltine.

"How did you happen to get acquainted with her?" asked Aunt Zélie, smiling at Carl's vehemence.

"Auntie, it was the funniest thing you ever heard of!" Louise exclaimed. "She tripped him up with a croquet mallet!"

"She must have been desperate," remarked her father, pulling one of the long braids that hung over her shoulder.

"She did not mean to do it-it was when I was running after Aleck-and she was very sorry. Then I found she didn't know anybody, so I went for Bess, and she had a good time after that," Carl explained briefly.

"She has lived in London, and different places abroad," Bess added.

"May we go to see her, auntie? We told her we would if you'd let us."

"Louise, you should never promise to visit people till you know something about them," said Aunt Marcia reprovingly.

"Her name is Dora Warner, and she boards with her mother at Mrs. West's on Chestnut street, and her father is dead. I think we know a good deal about her, Aunt Marcia," Bess said demurely.

"I am going to see her, and take her a chocolate mouse," Carie suddenly announced, having been a silent listener while she captured a handful of mice.

"I want to know what it is you like so much about your new friend," said Uncle William.

"What do you think of her, Helen?" his wife asked of the little girl, sitting so quietly beside her.

"Oh, I like her, Aunt Marcia, ever so much. She asked me to come to see her, and she is older than Bess."

"There is no nonsense about her," said Carl.

"I think it is hard to tell why you like people." Bess twisted her handkerchief meditatively. "She isn't exactly pretty, but she is pleasant and polite-"

"Yes, and she is ready to do anything, and doesn't think about her clothes," Carl interposed.

"Boys think about their clothes as well as girls," said Louise. "I know lots of girls who don't think about their clothes."

"So do I-some who have no regard whatever for them," said Aunt Zélie, laughing.

"Do you know I like the description they give of Dora," remarked Mr. William Hazeltine, after the children had left the room.

"I never knew Carl to be so warm in the praise of a new acquaintance," said his brother. "You will have to let them go to see her, Zélie."

"Pray, do not be rash; find out who they are first," begged Mrs. Hazeltine.

"I can't help thinking," said her husband, "that this little girl may be the daughter of my old friend Dick Warner; you remember him, Frank? He died about a year ago, somewhere abroad. As bright and sweet-tempered a fellow as ever lived! I must look into it."

Uncle William usually had his own way about things, for the reason that no other way was so pleasant. No one could resist his bright face and cordial manner. He carried around with him an atmosphere of such hearty goodwill that it was next to impossible to be cross or gloomy in his presence. People sometimes wondered how he happened to marry Mrs. Hazeltine, but the reason was plain enough to him. He regarded her with the greatest admiration, feeling that a harum-scarum fellow like himself was most fortunate in having such a wife to keep him straight. He was very proud and fond of her, and quite blind to what others called her managing propensities. Sometimes, indeed, he wondered how she could be so severe in her judgment of the children, but then someone must be firm. And though she was often annoyed by his friendliness with all sorts of odd people, and wished William would draw the line somewhere, she always ended by saying leniently that he would never be anything but a boy.

He had a warm love for children. No matter how ragged and forlorn they might be, they interested him. The newsboys and bootblacks felt that he was their friend, and many were the treats they received at his hand. By his young relatives and their many friends he was looked upon as a sort of every-day Santa Claus. One of his peculiarities was a love for surprising people. He sent mysterious parcels, left candy about in unexpected places, or took the children out for a walk, and then whisked them off on some delightful excursion.

Promptness was another of Uncle William's good qualities. Having determined to make inquiries about his old friend, he did it at once, and so it happened that Dora and her mother were called down to the parlor one day to see a tall gentleman with kindly dark eyes and iron-gray hair, who won them at once by his simple, cordial manner.

Mrs. Warner was a thoroughly saddened woman since the death of her husband, but even she could not resist his friendliness, and Dora was altogether captivated.

The children were surprised and delighted when they heard that their uncle had been to see the Warners, and that Dora was really the daughter of his old friend.

"So of course we ought to be friends with her," Bess remarked, as though it was a solemn duty rather than a pleasure.

Aunt Zélie allowed them to go to see her at once, and invite her to spend the next day with them.

"Don't things happen beautifully, Mamma?" Dora said gayly, as she dressed that morning. "To think that I really know Bess and Louise, and am going to see them!"

Her mother smiled sadly; she was glad her daughter had found such pleasant friends, for she knew that their quiet life was making her old for her years.

So Dora, in a flutter of delight, found herself following in the footsteps of the black cat, up the walk leading to the Big Front Door. And there on the porch, stretched at his ease, was that gentleman himself, apparently waiting for her, for he rose to meet her, and arched his back, and purred with great friendliness.

Then the door opened and she was inside, but before she could look around her, three little girls came flying down the stairs and laid violent hands upon her. Talking very fast, and quite breathless with laughing, they took her up to the dainty room-all blue and white-which Bess and Louise called theirs, where she took off her hat. Next she had to be presented to Aunt Zélie, from whom she received a welcome which made her feel at home from that minute. And then to the star chamber, where they found Carl, who was very glad indeed to see Dora again. One morning was really too short for all there was to be said and seen.

Dora was interested in everything: stamp albums, photographs, dolls, and most of all in the story books.

"You must take 'The Adventures of Robin Hood' home with you," Carl insisted when he found she had not read it, and then the others began to press their favorites upon her until she was quite overwhelmed.

She must look over at the Brown house garden, and hear about their new neighbor, and about Ikey Ford, and how tiresome his grandmother was. These confidences were interrupted by Carie, who walked in, eager to see the girl who had found her, and other attractions faded before the delight of holding this dainty bit of humanity on her lap. Nothing could be so charming, Dora thought, as she kissed the rosy cheeks and soft hair, and listened to her funny chatter; for Carie, who was not given to showing favors indiscriminately, treated her with unusual graciousness, bestowing chocolate mice with a lavish hand.

"You ought to be the best children in the world, for you have everything," Dora said as they went down to lunch.

"Oh, we are!" modestly replied Carl.

When this was over she was taken into a large room full of books and beautiful things, among them two portraits. One of these was of a white-haired man whose eyes seemed to smile at her as Bess said, "This is Grandfather;" the other face had something about it so like Bess's own that her low-toned explanation, "This is Mamma," was not needed.

After all, they had not quite everything.

When Carl went over to see Ikey about something, they seized the opportunity to play the Carletons, it being a game that the masculine mind scorned. They sat under the same chestnut tree, and the black cat joined them, and was formally introduced to Dora as Mr. Smith. Everything was quiet in the neighborhood, somebody was cutting the grass not far away, and it really might have been mistaken for that afternoon two weeks ago, except that the girl who was then on the carriage-block was now in the garden. To make the resemblance complete, who should drive up but Uncle William, calling to know if anybody wanted to go to the country.

The Carletons were promptly consigned to the seclusion of the atlas, while the romancers ran for their hats.

It was almost dark when Dora was set down at her own door, merry and rosy.

"Good-by! and do ask your mother to let you go to our school," her friends called, waving their handkerchiefs as they turned the corner. That happy day settled it. Dora and the Hazeltines became fast friends. Everybody liked her, the grown people as well as the children. Even Aunt Marcia pronounced her a most well-behaved little girl, and hoped Bess and Louise would profit by her example. Carl claimed the credit of having discovered her, and Carie always referred to her as "My Dora."

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