But, for all that, this
good lady hoped some day to see things come round as she would like to
bring them.
"No wonder that we like her son so much," said Faith when they had done
waving handkerchiefs at the great yellow coach going slowly up the hill,
with its vast wicker basket behind, and the guard perched over it with
his blunderbus; "he takes after his mother in so many ways. They are
both so simple and unsuspicious, and they make the best of every one."
"Including themselves, I suppose," answered Dolly. "Well I like people
who have something on their minds, and make the worst of everybody. They
have so much more to talk about."
"You should never try to be sarcastic, dear. And you know that you don't
mean it. I am sure you don't like to have the worst made of yourself."
"Oh, I have long been used to that. And I never care about it, when I
know it is not true. I am sure that Mother Scudamore runs me down, when
I am out of hearing. I never did like those perfect people."
"Mother Scudamore, indeed! You are getting into a low way of talking,
which is not at all pretty in a girl. And I never heard her say an
unkind word about you. Though she may not have found you quite so
perfect as she hoped."
"I tell you, Miss Darling," cried Dolly, with her bright colour
deepened, and her grey eyes flashing, "that I don't care a--something
that papa often says--what she thinks about me, or you either.
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