people
better than Nature, but failing the one she could put up with the other,
for she had a sense of beauty and a pagan love of color. There would
be pale-hued innocence and blue and white violets in the moist places,
thought Waitstill, and they would have them in a china cup on the
supper-table. No, that would never do, for last time father had knocked
them over when he was reaching for the bread, and in a silent protest
against such foolishness got up from the table and emptied theirs into
the kitchen sink.

"There's a place for everything," he said when he came back, "and the
place for flowers is outdoors."

Then in the pine woods there would be, she was sure, Star of Bethlehem,
Solomon's Seal, the white spray of groundnuts and bunchberries. Perhaps
they could make a bouquet and Patty would take it across the fields
to Mrs. Boynton's door. She need not go in, and thus they would not
be disobeying their father's command not to visit that "crazy Boynton
woman."

Here Patty came in with a pan full of greens and the sisters sat down in
the sunny window to get them ready for the pot.

"I'm calmer," the little rebel allowed. "That's generally the way it
turns out with me. I get into a rage, but I can generally sing it off!"

"You certainly must have got rid of a good deal of temper this morning,
by the way your voice sounded."

"Nobody can hear us in this out-of-the-way place. It's easy enough to
see that the women weren't asked to say anything when the men settled
where the houses should be built! The men weren't content to stick them
on the top of a high hill, or half a mile from the stores, but put them
back to the main road, taking due care to cut the sink-window where
their wives couldn't see anything even when they were washing dishes."

"I don't know that I ever thought about it in that way"; and Waitstill
looked out of the window in a brown study while her hands worked with
the dandelion greens. "I've noticed it, but I never supposed the men did
it intentionally."

"No, you wouldn't," said Patty with the pessimism of a woman of ninety,
as she stole an admiring glance at her sister. Patty's own face,
irregular, piquant, tantalizing, had its peculiar charm, and her
brilliant skin and hair so dazzled the masculine beholder that he took
note of no small defects; but Waitstill was beautiful; beautiful even
in her working dress of purple calico. Her single braid of hair, the
Foxwell hair, that in her was bron