"Good old aunty!" cried Ladybird, pounding Miss Flint on the top of her somewhat bald head by way of approbation and encouragement. "You're a dear, and Aunt Dorinda is another, and Chester is three, and Stella is four; and I just rather guess we four can come it over that ridiculous, absurd Lavinia Lovell, who's going to thrust herself upon us." "I think so, too," said Aunt Dorinda, placidly. CHAPTER XIX LADYBIRD _vs._ LAVINIA One day, Ladybird, watching from her window, saw a hack drive up to Primrose Hall. A middle-aged gentleman got out. "Mr. William H. Ward," she said to herself, serenely. Next appeared a golden-haired, blue-eyed girl of about fourteen. "Lavinia Flint!" said Ladybird; and putting her little black head down on Cloppy's fat back, she cried as if her heart would break. "We ought to be ashamed of ourselves, you and I, Clops," she said, "because, if that isn't the real Lavinia, there's no use in our making a fuss; and if it is, why, then she is It, and we're nothing, and that's all there is about that!" A little later Martha came to the door and said, "Miss Ladybird, you're wanted in the parlor." "Martha," said Ladybird, looking straight at the maid, "you go down and say to my Aunt Priscilla that I want that Lovell girl to come up here. And after I have seen her, we will both go down to the parlor." "Yes, miss," said Martha. She soon reappeared, bringing the visitor with her. Ladybird took the new-comer by the hand, drew her into the room, and shut the door. "I wanted to see you," she explained, "before I make up my mind what I am going to do. I suppose it's all true,--of course it must be,--that you're Lavinia Flint's daughter, and I'm not, though we are both the children of John Lovell." "Goodness," said the yellow-haired girl, "you talk like a lawyer!" "I am serious," said Ladybird, with all her dignity, and she had a good deal, "because I have to be. It's a pretty big thing to think that you're not the person you thought you were; especially after you've had to fight for your place, anyhow." "What are you talking about?" said the other. "Never you mind what I'm talking about," said Ladybird; "the question is, What can _you_ talk about? If you're going to live here with my aunts,--with your aunts, I mean,--and I suppose you are, can you love them and do as much for them as I could?" At this Ladybird, much to her own disgust, broke down entirely, and wept again on Cloppy's already soaking back. "Don't be silly," said her visitor. "I think you're making a great fuss over nothing; probably we'll both stay here. That would suit me, and I'm sure there's room enough."