he
came in, so she got out in a hurry. But they needn't worry; I'll not
force myself in; I'm queer, and ugly, and had better stay by myself;"
and with that, Olive shut her lips fiercely tight, and did not once
lift her eyes, when, a little while later, they all went laughing down
the walk, never heeding her or once regretting her absence. It often
happened so now, and Olive missed the coaxings with which they had once
tried to draw her out, never once dreaming that she had done away with
them herself, by shortly, tersely, and repeatedly asking, to "be let
alone."

No, this never occurred to her, as she sat there crying bitterly, but
her broken words revealed the track of her thoughts.

"They never let Ernestine stay home! Indeed not, and there's the
greatest commotion raised if she speaks of such a thing. She's pretty
and graceful, and loves to dress up like a doll, while I'm ugly, and
awkward, and always do things wrong, and disgrace them, I suppose. I
don't see what I'm crying for, I'm sure. I can be happy without them as
well as they without me!" and Olive raised her head defiantly, and flung
the tears from her lashes, for having cried; the burden seemed lighter,
and the little hurt and loneliness less hard. "I've plenty to think of
besides them, and I might as well go to work." So out of the trunk came
a box, and Olive's tears were as quickly gone as they had come. This box
held a collection of sketches, many of them originals, some of them
copies, but all bearing marks of a strong talent, rude and somewhat
hasty as yet, but capable of much, when the young artist should have
studied, and brought a few happy ideas to color the faces and scenes
that grew from under her fingers. Now they clearly betrayed the unhappy
spirit that prompted them, for there was not one glad sunshiny picture
among them; instead, there were several faces of women, in various
attitudes of defiance or despair, with a stern relentless sorrow
darkening their eyes, and hardening their lips; then there was an old
boat over-turned in the shadow of a half-broken tree, and various
sketches of home scenery from the different windows of the house. Olive
had selected one, somewhat larger than the rest, and had gone to work
rapidly, pressing her lips tightly in the earnestness of her work and
thoughts, and the room was perfectly silent for a long time. Presently
she stopped abruptly, and balancing her pencil on her finger, looked out
of the window with