A disheartening picture of the present Becky on the concert-stage flashed through Betty's usually hopeful mind. She felt a heartache, as she thought of her friend's unfitness and inevitable disappointment. Becky--plain, ungainly, honest Becky--felt it in her to do great things, yet she hardly knew what great things were. Persons of Betty's age never count upon having years of time in which to make themselves better. Everything must be finally decided by the state of things at the moment. Years of patient study were sure to develop the wonderful gift of Becky's strong, sweet voice. "Why don't you sing in the choir, Becky?" asked Betty suddenly. "It would make the singing so much better. I should love to do it, if I could, and it would help to make Sunday so pleasant for everybody, to hear you sing. Poor Miss Fedge's voice sounds funny, doesn't it? Sing me something now, Becky dear; sing 'Bonny Doon'!" But Becky took no notice of the request. "What do you mean to be, yourself?" she asked her companion, with great interest. "You know that I can't sing or paint or do any of those things," answered Betty humbly. "I used to wish that I could write books when I grew up, or at any rate help papa to write his. I am almost discouraged, though papa says I must keep on trying to do the things I really wish to do." And a bright flush covered Betty's eager face. "Oh, Becky dear!" she said suddenly. "You have something that I envy you more than even your singing: just living at home in one place and having your mother and the boys. I am always wishing and wishing, and telling myself stories about living somewhere in the same house all the time, with papa, and having a real home and taking care of him. You don't know how good it would feel! Papa says the best we can do now is to make a home wherever we are, for ourselves and others--but I think it is pretty hard, sometimes." "Well, I think the nicest thing would be to see the world, as you do," insisted Mary Beck. "I just _hate_ dusting and keeping things to rights, and I never _shall_ learn to cook! I like to do fancy work pretty well. You would think Tideshead was perfectly awful, in winter!" "Why should it be?" asked Betty innocently. "Winter is house-time. I save things to do in winter, and"-- "Oh, you are so preachy, you are so good-natured, you believe all the prim things that grown people say!" exclaimed Becky. "What would you say if you never went to Boston but once, and then had the toothache all the time? You have been everywhere, and you think it's great fun to stay a little while in poky old Tideshead, this one summer!" "Why, it is because I have seen so many other places that I know just how pleasant Tideshead is." "Well, I want to see other places, too," maintained the dissatisfied Becky.