t," and with mock regret the young man picked up the slipper
and comically surveyed its Cinderella proportions.

"So I did," was the regretful reply, "you see it was awfully poky,
having to sit so still. I must have grown desperate at last and kicked
it off--I am sorry."

"Well, I am not one bit sorry," he said. "I'll do another picture, and
next time I'll sketch the tree," he added, his brown eyes twinkling with
amusement.

"But how did you get up there, and how will you get down?" were his next
queries, putting the little slipper into the pocket of his jacket.

"Well, I climbed up," she admitted. "I suppose I'll have to jump down.
Reach out your hands," she cried, and a sudden rustle showed she was
preparing to spring. "Good gracious me!" was her next exclamation, as
the willing hands were extended, "my hair is all caught."

"Hold perfectly still till I get up there," he said with concern, and
replacing the stool, he was soon on a level with the fair prisoner.

Patiently he disentangled the long golden locks from the infringing
boughs, and gathering them all in her little hands, she gave them a
vigorous twist forward over her face out of further mischief.

"Now, my slipper, please," as the young fellow retreated. Obediently
restoring the truant article, she deftly adjusted it, and cried,
"All ready!"

It is hardly to be wondered at that her descent was arrested, and her
rounded form tenderly lowered to terra firma.

"I like this out here, don't you?" was her next remark, shaking out her
fairy muslin skirts and placidly surveying the scene. "I've been out
every day these--let me see--yes, three days. Aunt Hepsy says I'll get
tanned, but I don't mind. You know Aunt Hepsy, don't you? Everybody
does."

"No, but I'd like to," he said, and he meant it.

"She lives at the farm-house yonder--she and Uncle Reuben. They are the
best old souls! So this is what you were doing," she abruptly added,
picking up the sketch. "You wouldn't think I could draw, but I can,"
with a proud little toss of the hair.

"I would think you could do anything," he gallantly replied.

But she was intent upon the picture, with its bold, true outlines.

"This isn't bad," was her sage critcism.

"Didn't you wear a hat, or something?" he asked, looking around and up
into the tree.

"No--yes--I wore this," and pulling from her pocket a large blue square
of cotton, she tied it under her chin with the utmost naivete.

"It's Aunt Hepsy's