Dugald Allan was regarding Sidney with thoughtful eyes. She certainly was not in the least like the fifteen-year-olds he had assiduously avoided. "Some kid," he commented, inwardly. Aloud he ventured: "Will it be too inquisitive if I ask you what an Egg is? I see Aunt Achsa coming and I think you'll have just time to tell me--unless you'd rather not." "An Egg? Oh, you mean _my_ Egg. Of course you must have thought it funny! Why the Egg's the money that comes each year from a book my father wrote--Goosefeathers. He was always ashamed of it. So we--my sisters, you see, take turns spending the money any way we want to. This is my first turn. Oh, dear, I wasn't going to tell a soul." "You don't mean to say that you have any--well, objection, to being known as the daughter of Joseph Romley?" "Why, I'm not _ashamed_, of course not, for he was my own dad, and we loved him. Lots of times he acted just as though he wasn't a poet. But--but I wanted to be my own self; that was to be part of my adventure. You see its awfully stupid always having to remember to act like a poet's daughter; at least it is for Victoria and me--my older sisters are so used to it that they do it naturally--" But the astonishing boarder interrupted her with a roar of laughter. In fact, he seemed so amused and even delighted at something that he could not control his mirth. "You _are_ the funniest kid!" Then he had to laugh again. "Did you say you were--only fifteen? And just how do poets' daughters _have_ to act, anyway? I've only known--one. Well, I'll keep your secret. Only you'll let me talk about it with you once in a while, won't you? With everyone else you shall be as 'different' as your heart desires. I don't believe Aunt Achsa knows. Now, let's go and meet her and assure her that you are ready for the biggest breakfast she can give you!" "And do you think we can go out on the _Arabella_ today?" CHAPTER IX SIDNEY TELLS "DOROTHEA" After all Sidney never sent the telegram to Trude. But it must not be thought that all in a moment she adapted herself to her new surroundings, or saw Cousin Achsa as the "boarder" had pictured her; her anticipations had soared too high, on the wings of too agile an imagination, to surrender at once to their downfall. Even Dugald Allan she regarded with inward skepticism. How she rebuilt her small world can be chronicled best by peeping over her shoulder one afternoon, the third day after her coming, as she wrote in her precious "Dorothea" book. At the last moment she had brought this with her, moved by a doubt as to the wisdom of leaving it behind; there was no knowing what liberties the Leaguers, left alone, might take.