"Mamma has Grandma Ware's old receipt for rose balm, that will soon heal those blisters.
You would have saved yourself a good deal of trouble and suffering if you had gone to her in the first place." "Well, don't I know that ?" blazed Mary, angrily.

Then hiding her face in her arms she began to sob.

"You don't know what it is to be uh-ugly like me! I heard mamma say that I was as brown as a squaw, and I couldn't bear to think of Lloyd and Betty and everybody at The Locusts seeing me that way.

_That's_ why I did it!" "You are not ugly, Mary Ware," insisted Joyce, in a most reproving big-sisterly voice.

"Everybody can't be a raving, tearing beauty, and anybody with as bright and attractive a little face as yours ought to be satisfied to let well enough alone." "That's all right for _you_" replied Mary, bitterly.