Copy-Cat Other Stories | Page 5

she had a thrill
of purely feminine delight. It was on one such occa- sion 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. Ma- dame'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.
"Always fighting," said Amelia, and also lifted her chin and nose.
Amelia was a born mimic. She actually looked like Lily, and she spoke
like her.
Then Lily did a wonderful thing. She doubled her soft little arm into an
inviting loop for Amelia's little claw of a hand.
"Come along, Amelia Wheeler," said she. "We don't want to stay near
horrid, fighting boys. We will go by ourselves."
And they went. Madame had a headache that morning, and the
Japanese gong did not ring for fifteen minutes longer. During that time
Lily and Amelia sat together on a little rustic bench under a twinkling
poplar, and they talked, and a sort of miniature sun-and-satellite
relation was established between them, although neither was aware of it.
Lily, being on the whole a very normal little girl, and not disposed to
even a full estimate of herself as compared with others of her own sex,
did not dream of Amelia's adoration, and Amelia, being rarely destitute
of self-consciousness, did not understand the whole scope of her own
sentiments. It was quite sufficient that she was seated close to this
wonderful Lily, and agreeing with her to the verge of immo- lation.
"Of course," said Lily, "girls are pretty, and boys are just as ugly as
they can be."
"Oh yes," said Amelia, fervently.
"But," said Lily, thoughtfully, "it is queer how Johnny Trumbull always
comes out ahead in a fight, and he is not so very large, either."
"Yes," said Amelia, but she realized a pang of jealousy. "Girls could
fight, I suppose," said she.
"Oh yes, and get their clothes all torn and messy," said Lily.
"I shouldn't care," said Amelia. Then she added, with a little toss, "I

almost know I could fight." The thought even floated through her
wicked little mind that fighting might be a method of wearing out
obnoxious and durable clothes.
"You!" said Lily, and the scorn in her voice wilted Amelia.
"Maybe I couldn't," said she.
"Of course you couldn't, and if you could, what a sight you'd be. Of
course it wouldn't hurt your clothes as much as some, because your
mother dresses you in strong things, but you'd be sure to get black and
blue, and what would be the use, anyway? You couldn't be a boy, if
you did fight."
"No. I know I couldn't."
"Then what is the use? We are a good deal prettier than boys, and
cleaner, and have