At Chicago, on a hot afternoon in early summer, two little girls gotaboard the car on the Limited that was bound through to Boston. Bothlittle girls had bobbed brown hair and brown eyes and both were going oneleven, but there all likeness between them ended.
The larger of the two little girls wore a black silk frock embroideredwith amber-colored butterflies and curlicues, and black silkknickerbockers. The socks that stopped just below her sturdy brown kneeswere of black silk, and her black sandals had tiny buckles of onyx. Shewore a hat of fine black straw, and in her arms she carried a littleblack vanity bag, two big books with colored pictures on their jackets,and a box tied up in white paper and gilt cord that screamed--andsmelled--of chocolates.
Before her walked a solemn brown porter, laden with suitcases andhandbags and hatboxes. Behind her walked a worried young woman, in afresh blue linen suit. Thus attended the little girl passed along theaisle, with the air of a good-natured young princess, and vanished intothe drawing-room at the end of the car. When the solemn-looking portercame out of the drawing-room, he was no longer solemn but smiling, andthe piece of silver that he pocketed was large and round.
The smaller of the little girls had watched this progress admiringly,but without envy. She was a serious little girl, and this was her firstlong journey in the world. She sat very still in her seat, which wasback to the engine, and she clasped a doll tight in her arms. The dollwore a neat print dress and frilled underclothes, and though the day washot, a crocheted sweater and a cunningly made hood. The little girlherself wore a dress of pink and white checked gingham which was alittle faded and a little short for her. Her hat was of white straw witha wreath of pink flowers, and her socks were white, and so were herbuttoned boots. Over her arm she carried a knitted sweater coat of red,and at her feet stood a large suitcase which had seen much travel.
"Did you see the little girl in black?" she whispered to the doll, whosename was Mildred. "Do you s'pose she's in mourning for somebody? Well,people can be just as sorry inside--we know it, don't we, Mildred?--evenif they have to wear last summer's clothes, and they happen to be pink."
Mildred was a very intelligent doll. She had steady blue eyes, a sweetsmile, and a shock of flaxen curls. She showed her intelligence byalways listening sympathetically and never speaking. So she did not leton now that she saw tears in her young mother's eyes.
Meantime in the drawing-room the little girl in black silk had put downher books and her bag, and hung up her hat, and rung for the porter.
"I want a pillow," she told the worried young lady who accompanied her,"and a table so I can play Canfield and--oh, yes! I want a big longdrink of lemonade."
"I'm afraid the porter won't come till the train has started," the younglady told her. "Can't you read your books until then? What are they?"
The little girl resigned herself quite sweetly to going without herpillow and her table, and even her lemonade. She sat down beside hercompanion and showed her the books.
"This one is about Robin Hood," she said, "but I've heard of him before.This other one is some book!"
"My dear!" the lady murmured in rebuke.
"I'll say it is!" the little girl affirmed. "I read it nights in myberth till Auntie Blair switched off my light. Some book, I'll tell theworld! It's called 'The Prince and the Pauper.'"
And if a kind old guardian hadn't happened to give that little girl agorgeous copy of the beloved romance, when she left Los Angeles, and ifthe little girl hadn't "eaten it up," and dreamed of it, and livedherself into it on the long railway journey, this story, as you soonwill see, would never have been written.