CHAPTER SEVEN: DAPHNE'S ADVICE

Tom left for the West the next day, and Janet and Phyllis returned from the station with Auntie Mogs. They were very quiet for the rest of the evening, for they were busy with their own thoughts.

Janet faced another week of school and she dreaded it. If she could only stay at home with Phyllis and Auntie Mogs and Boru, instead of having to face all those girls again. She had tried at first to find her place among them, but the old dread of being "different" made her shy and self-conscious; even with Daphne before her as an example of the charms of originality she had failed, failed utterly.

It was partly the girls' fault. They had made a tremendous fuss about her the first few days and then, as the novelty had worn off, they had settled back in their own ways, and Janet had not understood the change. Her shyness made her morbid, and by the end of the first week she had made up her mind that she had failed in some way, and she construed the girls' thoughtless indifference to mean dislike.

It was no wonder that she dreaded the thought of returning; it meant hard work to keep a stiff upper lip and to smile in spite of her heartache. Only one thought was clear, and that was that Phyllis must not know.

But Phyllis did know. There was something wrong, she felt sure, but she could not understand what it was. She had been delighted with the way her friends had welcomed her twin, but when Janet had seemed to refuse their offers of friendship she could only conclude that she did not like them. But Phyllis would not accept any such explanation meekly. Janet was not happy, therefore something must be done, and she decided to talk the matter over with Sally.

She chose the noon recess, when Janet remained in the study hall to finish a composition she was writing.

Sally listened gravely.

"What shall I do about it?" Phyllis finished dolefully.

"Well, something," Sally replied decidedly. "I don't know just what, but something's wrong, and we will have to ferret it out. She's strange, of course, and she doesn't understand us very well. I've seen her look at me as if she thought I was crazy sometimes. She acts as though she didn't like us, but I think she does really. Time's the thing, of course, but it won't do to wait until the girls begin to resent her standoffishness."

"Oh, Sally, don't," pleased Phyllis. "Hello, Taffy," she added, as Daphne passed slowly behind her chair.

"'Lo," Daphne drawled.

In another part of the room another group of girls were discussing Janet.

"She's really not a bit like Phyllis," Eleanor said with a frown. "I can't make her out."

"Neither can anyone else," replied Rosamond, "She's queer."

"I've never been able to get anything but yes or no out of her," another girl complained. "I call her just plain slow."

"She's always fearfully polite," some one else objected. "I never heard her use a single slang word."

"Oh, well, Sally will cure her of that," -- Rosamond laughed.

Eleanor sighed. It was so easy to be goodnatured that she couldn't understand anybody taking the trouble to sulk.

"We must be nice to her anyway," she said decidedly. "She's Phyllis's twin, and she's in our class."

"Suppose so," the others agreed as the bell rang.

When Sally and Phyllis returned to the study hall, Janet was still at her desk. She looked up and smiled as Phyllis spoke to her, but she went on with her work.

Sally watched her critically and sighed. She was awfully sorry for her but she was angry too. She wanted to shake her, to make her laugh or cry or do something besides just sitting there with that forced smile and her brown eyes ready to flood with tears any minute.

"I wish she would bawl and have it over with," she thought to herself.

Janet lifted the lid of her desk to put away her papers, and Sally lifted hers at the same time and bent her head so that she could speak without being seen from the desk.

"Phyllis is coming over to my house this afternoon," she whispered. "will you come too?"

"Oh, thanks, I'd like to," Janet replied eagerly.

Sally sighed with relief. So far so good. Once in her own home, with a box of candy between them, they could surely straighten everything out.

As for Janet, she had hardly accepted the invitation before she regretted it. Sally only wanted her because she knew Phyllis would not come without her, or so she argued.

"I won't be a bother to them," she declared vehemently. "I won't."

So when Sally and Phyllis hurried to the study hall after being detained by Miss Baxter at the close of school, Janet was nowhere to be found.

"But she said she'd come," Sally exclaimed angrilly. "Oh, she's left a note on my desk, listen -- "

"Dear Sally -- " (she read)
   "I am sorry that I won't be able to come to your house with Phyllis this afternoon, but I have just remembered something that I must hurry home to do.
   "Thank you very much for bothering to ask me.
                                                              "Janet."

"My Aunt Jane's poll parrot!" was all poor Sally could say.

"But she didn't have anything to do at home," Phyllis protested. "Oh, Sally, what is the matter with her, and what shall I do?"

"You'll come home with me first of all," Sally replied with determination; "then later in the afternoon we will go over to your house, as though nothing had happened, and perhaps we can persuade her to come out for a walk."

"All right, if you think that's best," -- Phyllis agreed to the plan, dismally. "But I warn you I won't be very good fun."

"If she would only come to her senses," Sally exclaimed.

---

In the meantime, Janet had hurried away from school. She did not want Phyllis to see her for, with that lump in her throat, she knew an explanation would mean tears, and Janet hated tears.

Her steps lagged before she had gone very far, and she walked on slowly, deep in an unhappy revery, too miserable to notice the quick footsteps that were rapidly gaining on her.

"Hello, Phyllis's twin!" The soft, half-laughing drawl was unmistakable, and Janet turned quickly, to see Daphne beside her.

"Hello," she answered slowly. No need to force a smile for her; she wouldn't be deceived by it.

Daphne did not appear to notice anything amiss. She looked lazily down at the wet and muddy sidewalks and shrugged her shoulders.

"Park's better than this," she suggested. "Let's cut over to it."

They walked on in silence until they gained the path that ran around the reservoir.

"Looks wintry, doesn't it?" she asked idly. They stopped and looked over the iron railing into the dull green water.

It was a somber autumn day. The sky was banked with dark gray clouds, and a high wind swept through the trees, tearing away the last leaves and whirling them to the ground.

"I suppose so," Janet replied indifferently. "I like it," she added listlessly.

"Og course, but it's silly of you," Daphne agreed with her odd little laugh. "Awfully silly."

"What do you mean?" Janet looked up at her suddenly.

"It's silly to like dreary things, even days, and it's most awfully silly to be dreary yourself. Not fair, you know, when every body's doing their best to be nice."

"But they're not," Janet said quickly. "They were the first day and then -- "

Daphne turned slowly and looked at her. For once her drooping lids fully uncovered the sea green eyes that they were usually at such pains to hide. A strand of her taffy-colored hair blew across her face, and she tucked it carefully under her hat before she answered.

"So that's it, is it?" There was a hint of something besides laughter in her velvety tone. "I didn't understand; what happened?"

"I don't know," Janet answered dully; "perhaps I did something they didn't like or perhaps they just stopped bothering with me; I don't know."

"But I know," -- Daphne laughed. "You expected too much. When the girls stopped making a fuss about you, you thought they stopped liking you, so here you are going off to corners and looking sadder than a wet chicken, and you think you are doing the best you can, eh?"

"Go on," Janet said quietly.

"Ever have a pet rabbit?" Daphne inquired with mild interest.

"Yes, but what --" Janet stammered.

"Remember the day you first had him, the fuss you made about him and then how you got sort of tired of him?"

"Why, yes, I suppose -- "

Daphne laughed and yawned, showing all her pretty white teeth.

"Little simpleton, you're the rabbit," she said. "The girls still like you, but they're used to you and they rather expect you to do something now. It's your turn to do tricks, like the bunny."

"And I -- " Janet began.

"Oh, you sit in the corner and sulk and say, "Yes, thank you, and no, thank you," and the girls are discouraged. Can't blame them, you know. You're Phyllis's sister, and they have a right to expect more from you." She said it all in her soft furry voice, and it was impossible to resent it. Janet watched her fasten her coat collar up closer about her neck, but she could not speak.

Daphne apparently did not expect her to.

"It's your turn now," she repeated and without another word turned and walked away.

Janet did not follow her except with her eyes. She seemed rivetted to the spot on which she stood. When Daphne was out of sight she turned once more to the reservoir, but this time she saw more than the clouds reflected in the dull water. She saw her own mistake.

Continue to chapter 8