“Who are Molly and Maud?” inquired her new friend, with interest. Daisy started and flushed. In the interest of the moment she had quite forgotten the rôle of Margaret Smith. “They are our two sisters,” she explained, with an apologetic glance at Dulcie. “We all love rabbits, but Grandma will never let us have any pets.” “You must bring them to see my rabbits,” her hostess said politely. “I’ve got so many, I’d like to give you some, if your grandma would let you have them.” “You are very kind,” said Dulcie, “but I’m afraid we couldn’t take them. You see, we don’t expect to live at home any longer.” The brown eyes opened very wide, and their new acquaintance inquired in a tone of the utmost astonishment: “Where are you going to live, then?” “We don’t know,” said Dulcie; “that’s what we wanted to speak to your mother about. We are looking for a situation.” Their new friend gasped. “But you’re not grown up; you’re only little girls,” she faltered. “Little girls only work if their mothers are very poor. You don’t look a bit like poor people.” “We’re not exactly poor,” Dulcie explained, “but there are--reasons why we don’t want to live at home any more, so we’ve come away to try to find a situation. We don’t mind working hard, and there are really a good many things we can do. We’ve made our own beds and dusted our rooms ever since Liz--I mean for quite a long time, and we can wash dishes, and cook a little, too. If we could have a cook-book, I think we would manage very well.” The look in the little stranger’s eyes had changed from astonishment to admiration. “I think you are very clever,” she said. “I wish I could do useful things like that, but I shouldn’t like to leave my home. I think I should die if I had to go away from Mamma and Papa.” “I’m sure you will never have to do it,” Dulcie reassured her. “You see, it’s quite different with us. Our mamma is dead, and our papa--oh, well, we’d rather not talk about it, but it’s all very sad, and we don’t want to be burdens any longer. Let’s talk some more about the rabbits.” Their new friend nodded comprehendingly. “I know how you feel,” she said. “I hate talking about sad things, too. I don’t like sad stories, either. Once Mamma read me about little Paul Dombey, and I cried so much I had a headache.” “I wish we had a mamma,” said Daisy, with a sigh. “Children are never burdens to their mothers. I think yours must be nice; you talk so much about her.” “She’s the loveliest lady in the world. She’s so good that everybody loves her. Haven’t you ever heard about her?” “No, I don’t think we have,” Daisy admitted reluctantly. “You see, we don’t know very many people. What’s your mamma’s name?” “Mrs. Richard B. Thorne, and I am Barbara Muriel Thorne.” “Oh, what a beautiful name!” cried Dulcie. “I’ve read about Barbaras, but I never met one before. I wish my name was Barbara, or else Gladys. Muriel is quite a book name, too.”