Camilla held in
her lap a little portfolio of papier-mache, and wrote with a little
gold pencil on sheets of gilt-edged paper. Camilla always wrote when
she sat in the arbor, but nobody ever knew what. She always carried
the finely written sheets into the house, and nobody knew where she
put them afterwards. Camilla's long, thin fingers, smooth and white
as ivory, sparkled dully with old rings. Some large amethysts in fine
gold settings she wore, one great yellow pearl, a mourning-ring of
hair in a circlet of pearls for tears, and some diamond bands in
silver, which gave out cold white lights only as her hands moved
across the gilt-edged paper.

As for Lucina, she had set up her doll primly in a corner of the
arbor, and was knitting her stent. It might have seemed difficult to
understand what the child found to enjoy in this quiet entertainment,
but in childhood all situations which appeal to the imagination give
enjoyment, and most situations which break the routine of daily life
do so appeal. Then, too, Camilla's quiet persistence in her own
employment gave a delightful sense of equality and dignity to the
child. She would not have liked it half as well had her aunt stooped
to entertain her and brought out toys and games for her amusement.
However, there was entertainment to come, to which she looked forward
with gratification, as that placed her firmly on the footing of an
honored guest. The minister's daughter or the doctor's wife could not
be treated better or with more courtesy.

Aunt Camilla wrote with pensive pauses of reflection, and Lucina
knitted until her stent was finished. Then she folded up the garter
neatly, quilted in the needles as she had been taught, and placed it
in her little bag. Then she took up her doll protectingly and
soothingly, and held her in her lap, with the great china head
against her small bosom. Lucina's doll was very large, and finely
attired in stiff book-muslin and pink ribbons. She wore also pink
morocco shoes on her feet, which stood out strangely at sharp right
angles. Lucina sometimes eyed her doll-baby's feet uncomfortably. "I
guess she will outgrow it," she told herself, with innocent maternal
hypocrisy early developed.

When Lucina laid aside her work and began nursing her doll her aunt
looked up from her writing. "Are you enjoying yourself, dear?" she
inquired.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Would you like to run about the garden?"

"No, thank you, ma'am; I will sit here and ho