that Mr. Lang, laughing, asked, in the old
friendly tone,--

"Did you paint this picture, Sandy, for any special purpose?"

"Only that I might show it to Miss Darry."

"Ah, well, let us take it to her. I have another use for it besides. Are
there any further touches to be given it?"

I looked; it might have been improved by more work, but I had not the
courage to undertake it before them. So I said I thought it would do.

He lingered a moment, while Miss Merton spoke a few words to Annie, who
only waited until they reached the stile to express warmly her
admiration of the lovely lady, who had invited her also to come some day
to Hillside, to see the air-plants in her conservatory.

CHAPTER VIII.

When I descended from my room to the kitchen, the next evening, arrayed
for my visit, with all the elegance of which my simple wardrobe
admitted, Mrs. Bray exclaimed,--

"Well, Sandy, I protest, you do look smart! But don't be set up, 'cause
you keep high company. I s'pose, knowin Amos was a family man, and
couldn't go visitin' round, they took a notion to you."

Annie followed me to the door, saying,--

"You must remember to tell me about the picture, Sandy, and what they
say of yours; and do look at the plants Miss Merton promised to show me,
and see just how she looks herself."

"And anything more?" I asked, laughing.

"Yes,--what they say to you. You look as handsome to-night, Sandy, as
the tall gentleman with Miss Merton,--only such a very different
handsome!"

"Then you admired his appearance?" I asked, lingering. "I fancied you
were too busy looking at Miss Merton to think of him."

But Annie continued to unfold her opinion without noticing my remark.

"I should be afraid he wouldn't care for me, if I didn't look and act
just as he wanted me to. I don't like his way of being handsome, Sandy,
so well as yours."

Unconsciously, Annie was making her first experiment in analysis; and as
I did not quite relish the basis upon which my beauty rested, I bade her
good-night, and hurried away.

I knew I was not handsome, yet Annie's naive admiration undoubtedly
braced me to face the evening. In my gray eye there was nothing of the
soft, dreamy expression usually supposed to accompany the aesthetic
temperament. On the contrary, it had the earnest, scrutinizing glance
peculiar to a more restless intellect than mine. The intent gaze of some
ancestor, perhaps, looked out from these "windows of my soul." If so,