Would she ever again forget the handsome face that had
smiled so kindly upon her? Surely he was a king among men, and
he had praised her, said her name was like a song, and that she
was like the Dora of the beautiful poem. This grand gentleman,
with the clear, handsome face and dainty white hands, actually
admired her.
So Dora dreamed by the brook-side, and she was to see him again
and again; she gave no thought to a cold, dark time when she
should see him no more. Tomorrow the sun would shine, the birds
sing, and she should see him once again.
Dora never remembered how that happy day passed. Good Mrs.
Thorne looked at her child, and sighed to think how pretty she
was and how soon that sweet, dimpled face would be worn with
care.
Dora's first proceeding was characteristic enough. She went to
her own room and locked the door; then she put the cracked little
mirror in the sunshine, and proceeded to examine her face. She
wanted to see why Ronald Earle admired her; she wondered much at
this new power she seemed possessed of; she placed the glass on
the table, and sat down to study her own face.
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