Title:  The Poor Little Rich Girl

Author:  Eleanor Gates

Release Date:  April 26, 2005 [EBook #15714]

Language:  English

Character set encoding:  ASCII

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[Illustration:  This was A novel experience, this having both father and mother in the nursery at the same time]

The POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL

by Eleanor Gates

[Illustration]

Grosset & Dunlap Publishers new York

The Poor Little Rich Girl

CHAPTER I

Halfway up the shining surface of the gilt-framed pier glass was a mark—­a tiny ink-line that had been carefully drawn across the outer edge of the wide bevel.  As Gwendolyn stared at the line, the reflection of her small face in the mirror grew suddenly all white, as if some rude hand had reached out and brushed away the pink from cheeks and lips.  Arms rigid at her sides, and open palms pressed hard against the flaring skirts of her riding-coat, she shrank back from the glass.

“Oo-oo!” she breathed, aghast.  The gray eyes swam.

After a moment, however, she blinked resolutely to clear her sight, stepped forward again, and, straightening her slender little figure to its utmost height, measured herself a second time against the mirror.

But—­as before—­the top of her yellow head did not reach above the ink-mark—­not by the smallest part of an inch!  So there was no longer any reason to hope!  The worst was true!  She had drawn the tiny line across the edge of the bevel the evening before, when she was only six years old; now it was mid-morning of another day, and she was seven—­yet she was not a whit taller!

The tears began to overflow.  She pressed her embroidered handkerchief to her eyes.  Then, stifling a sob, she crossed the nursery, stumbling once or twice as she made toward the long cushioned seat that stretched the whole width of the front window.  There, among the down-filled pillows, with her loose hair falling about her wet cheeks and screening them, she lay down.

For months she had looked forward with secret longing to this seventh anniversary.  Every morning she had taken down the rose-embossed calendar that stood on the top of her gold-and-white writing-desk and tallied off another of the days that intervened before her birthday.  And the previous evening she had measured herself against the pier glass without even a single misgiving.