She could dive well too, and swim under water even longer than the boys could, much to their surprise.

“Oh well, you see, back home, we’ve got a pool in our garden,” she said. “A wonDERful pool, gee, you should see it. And I learnt to swim in it when I was two. Pops always called me a water-baby.”

Berta ate just as much as the others, although she was not so sturdy and well-built. She was loud in her praise of the meals, and this pleased Aunt Fanny and Joan very much.

“You’re getting fatter, Leslie,” said Aunt Fanny a week later, looking at her as she sat eating her lunch with the others. “And what is better still — you’re getting a really good sun-tan. You’re almost as brown as the others!”

“Yes. I thought so too,” said Berta, pleased.

“It’s a good thing you caught the sun so easily,” said Aunt Fanny. “Now, if any kidnappers come round looking for a long-haired pale-faced American girl, they would take one look at the lot of you and off they would go! Nobody would guess you were Berta!”

“All the same, I’d much rather be Berta,” said Berta. “I still don’t like pretending to be a boy. It’s silly, and it makes me feel silly. Anyway, thank goodness my hair’s growing a bit longer. I don’t look quite so much like a boy now!”

“Dear me, you’re right,” said Aunt Fanny, and everyone looked at Berta. “I shall have to cut it short again.”

“Gosh!” said Berta, “why did I say that? You wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t mentioned it. Let it grow again, please, Aunt Fanny. I’ve been here a week and there isn’t even a smell of a kidnapper — and I reckon there won’t be either!”

But Aunt Fanny was firm about the hair, and after the meal she made Berta stand still while she clipped it a little shorter. It was not a bit curly like George’s, and now that it was short, the wave had almost gone from it. She really did look like a good clean little boy!

“Rather a wishy-washy one!” said George, unkindly, but everyone knew what she meant.

Sally the poodle was a great success. Even George couldn’t go on disliking the happy, dancing little dog. She trotted and capered about on her slim little legs, and Timmy was her adoring slave.

“She always looks as if she’s running about on tiptoe,” said Anne, and so she did. She made friends with everyone, even the paper-boy who was really scared of dogs.

Uncle Quentin was the only one who didn’t get used to Berta and Sally. When he met them together, Berta so like a small boy, Sally at her heels, he stopped and stared.

“Now let me see — who are you?” he said. “Yes — you’re Berta!”

“No — he’s LESLIE!” everyone would say.

“You must not call her Berta, dear,” said his wife. “You really must not. It’s a funny thing that you never could remember she was Berta, and now that we’ve made her into Leslie, you immediately remember she’s Berta!”