As for Lily, she hardly ever noticed Amelia. She was not aware that she herself was an object of adoration; for she was a little girl who searched for admiration in the eyes of little boys rather than little girls, although very innocently. She always glanced slyly at Johnny Trumbull when she wore a pretty new frock, to see if he noticed. He never did, and she was sharp enough to know it. She was also child enough not to care a bit, but to take a queer pleasure in the sensation of scorn which she felt in consequence. She would eye Johnny from head to foot, his boy's clothing somewhat spotted, his bulging pockets, his always dusty shoes, and when he twisted uneasily, not understanding why, she had a thrill of purely feminine delight. It was on one such occasion that she first noticed Amelia Wheeler particularly. It was a lovely warm morning in May, and Lily was a darling to behold--in a big hat with a wreath of blue flowers, her hair tied with enormous blue silk bows, her short skirts frilled with eyelet embroidery, her slender silk legs, her little white sandals. Madame's maid had not yet struck the Japanese gong, and all the pupils were out on the lawn, Amelia, in her clean, ugly gingham and her serviceable brown sailor hat, hovering near Lily, as usual, like a common, very plain butterfly near a particularly resplendent blossom. Lily really noticed her. She spoke to her confidentially; she recognized her fully as another of her own sex, and presumably of similar opinions. “Ain't boys ugly, anyway?” inquired Lily of Amelia, and a wonderful change came over Amelia. Her sallow cheeks bloomed; her eyes showed blue glitters; her little skinny figure became instinct with nervous life. She smiled charmingly, with such eagerness that it smote with pathos and bewitched. “Oh yes, oh yes,” she agreed, in a voice like a quick flute obbligato. “Boys are ugly.” “Such clothes!” said Lily. “Yes, such clothes!” said Amelia. “Always spotted,” said Lily. “Always covered all over with spots,” said Amelia. “And their pockets always full of horrid things,” said Lily. “Yes,” said Amelia. Amelia glanced openly at Johnny Trumbull; Lily with a sidewise effect. Johnny had heard every word. Suddenly he arose to action and knocked down Lee Westminster, and sat on him. “Lemme up!” said Lee. Johnny had no quarrel whatever with Lee. He grinned, but he sat still. Lee, the sat-upon, was a sharp little boy. “Showing off before the gals!” he said, in a thin whisper. “Hush up!” returned Johnny. “Will you give me a writing-pad--I lost mine, and mother said I couldn't have another for a week if I did--if I don't holler?” inquired Lee. “Yes. Hush up!” Lee lay still, and Johnny continued to sit upon his prostrate form. Both were out of sight of Madame's windows, behind a clump of the cedars which graced her lawn. “Always fighting,” said Lily, with a fine crescendo of scorn. She lifted her chin high, and also her nose.