me kitchens."

"You don't look as if you knew much about 'em," was Euphrasia's answer.
With Victoria once again in the light, Euphrasia scrutinized her with
appalling frankness, taking in every detail of her costume and at length
raising her eyes to the girl's face. Victoria coloured. On her visits
about the country-side she had met women of Euphrasia's type before, and
had long ago ceased to be dismayed by their manner. But her instinct
detected in Euphrasia a hostility for which she could not account.

In that simple but exquisite gown which so subtly suited her, the
creation of which had aroused the artist in a celebrated Parisian
dressmaker, Victoria was, indeed, a strange visitant in that kitchen. She
took a seat by the window, and an involuntary exclamation of pleasure
escaped her as her eyes fell upon the little, old-fashioned flower garden
beneath it. The act and the exclamation for the moment disarmed
Euphrasia.

"They were Sarah Austen's--Mrs. Vane's," she explained, "just as she
planted them the year she died. I've always kept 'em just so."

"Mrs. Vane must have loved flowers," said Victoria.

"Loved 'em! They were everything to her--and the wild flowers, too. She
used to wander off and spend whole days in the country, and come back
after sunset with her arms full."

"It was nature she loved," said Victoria, in a low voice.

"That was it--nature," said Euphrasia. "She loved all nature. There
wasn't a living, creeping thing that wasn't her friend. I've seen birds
eat out of her hand in that window where you're settin', and she'd say to
me, 'Phrasie, keep still! They'd love you, too, if they only knew you,
but they're afraid you'll scrub 'em if you get hold of them, the way you
used to scrub me.'"

Victoria smiled--but it was a smile that had tears in it. Euphrasia
Cotton was standing in the shaft of sunlight at the other window, staring
at the little garden.

"Yes, she used to say funny things like that, to make you laugh when you
were all ready to cry. There wasn't many folks understood her. She knew
every path and hilltop within miles of here, and every brook and spring,
and she used to talk about that mountain just as if it was alive."

Victoria caught her breath.

"Yes," continued Euphrasia, "the mountain was alive for her. 'He's angry
to-day, Phrasie. That's because, you lost your temper and scolded
Hilary.' It's a queer thing, but there have been hundreds of times since
when he needed scoldi