“I’m so afraid, Cecily, that I’m going to be homely all my life,” said poor Sara with a tremble in her voice. “You can stand being ugly when you are young if you have any hope of being better looking when you grow up. But I’m getting worse. Aunt Mary says I’m going to be the very image of Aunt Matilda. And Aunt Matilda is as homely as she can be. It isn’t”--and poor Sara sighed--“a very cheerful prospect. If I am ugly nobody will ever want to marry me, and,” concluded Sara candidly, “I don’t want to be an old maid.”
“But plenty of girls get married who aren’t a bit pretty,” comforted Cecily. “Besides, you are real nice looking at times, Sara. I think you are going to have a nice figure.”
“But just look at my hands,” moaned Sara. “They’re simply covered with warts.”
“Oh, the warts will all disappear before you grow up,” said Cecily.
“But they won’t disappear before the school concert. How am I to get up there and recite? You know there is one line in my recitation, ‘She waved her lily-white hand,’ and I have to wave mine when I say it. Fancy waving a lily-white hand all covered with warts. I’ve tried every remedy I ever heard of, but nothing does any good. Judy Pineau said if I rubbed them with toad-spit it would take them away for sure. But how am I to get any toad-spit?”
“It doesn’t sound like a very nice remedy, anyhow,” shuddered Cecily. “I’d rather have the warts. But do you know, I believe if you didn’t cry so much over every little thing, you’d be ever so much better looking. Crying spoils your eyes and makes the end of your nose red.”
“I can’t help crying,” protested Sara. “My feelings are so very sensitive. I’ve given up trying to keep THAT resolution.”
“Well, men don’t like cry-babies,” said Cecily sagely. Cecily had a good deal of Mother Eve’s wisdom tucked away in that smooth, brown head of hers.
“Cecily, do you ever intend to be married?” asked Sara in a confidential tone.
“Goodness!” cried Cecily, quite shocked. “It will be time enough when I grow up to think of that, Sara.”
“I should think you’d have to think of it now, with Cyrus Brisk as crazy after you as he is.”
“I wish Cyrus Brisk was at the bottom of the Red Sea,” exclaimed Cecily, goaded into a spurt of temper by mention of the detested name.
