[Illustration: "I wish you would tell me your receipt for making friends, Molly," exclaimed Nance.--_Page 51._]
"I wish you would tell me your receipt for making friends, Molly," exclaimed Nance. "You are really a perfect wonder. Don't you find it troublesome to be so nice to so many people?"
"I'd find it lots harder not to be nice," answered Molly. "Besides, it's a rule that works both ways. The nicer you are to people, the nicer they are to you."
"But don't you think lots of people aren't worth the effort and if you treat them like sisters, they are apt to take advantage of it and bore you afterwards?"
"I've never been troubled that way," she said.
"Now, don't tell me," cried Nance, warming to the argument, "that that universally cordial manner of yours doesn't bring a lot of rag-tags around to monopolize you. If it hasn't before, it will now. You'll see."
"You make me feel like the leader of Coxey's Army," laughed Molly; "because, you see, I'm a kind of a rag-tag myself."
Her eyes filled with tears. She was thinking of her meagre wardrobe. Nance was silent. She was slow of speech, but when she once began, she always said more than she intended simply to prove her point; and now she was afraid she had hurt Molly's feelings. She was provoked with herself for her carelessness, and when she was on bad terms with herself she appeared to be on bad terms with everybody else. Of course, in her heart of hearts, she had been thinking of Frances Andrews, whom she felt certain Molly would never snub sufficiently to keep her at a distance.
The two girls went about their dressing without saying another word. Nance was coiling her smooth brown braids around her head, while Molly was looking sorrowfully at her only two available dresses for that evening's party. One was a blue muslin of a heavenly color but considerably darned, and the other was a marquisette, also the worse for wear. Suddenly Nance gave a reckless toss of her hair brush in one direction and her comb in another, and rushed over to Molly, who was gazing absently into the closet.
"Oh, Molly," she cried impetuously, seizing her friend's hand, "I'm a brute. Will you forgive me? I'm afraid I hurt your feelings. It's just my unfortunate way of getting excited and saying too much. I never met any one I admired as much as you in such a short time. I wish I did know how to be charming to everybody, like you. It's been ground into me since I was a child not to make friends with people unless it was to my advantage, and I found out they were entirely worthy. And it's a slow process, I can tell you. You are the very first chance acquaintance I ever made in my life, and I like you better than any girl I ever met. So there, will you say you have forgiven me?"