th between the river
and the vines.

XIX

Hidden by the shade of rose-bushes Greta lay stretched at length, cheek
on arm, sleeping the sleep of the unrighteous. Through the flowers the
sun flicked her parted lips with kisses, and spilled the withered petals
on her. In a denser islet of shade, Scruff lay snapping at a fly. His
head lolled drowsily in the middle of a snap, and snapped in the middle
of a loll.

At three o'clock Miss Naylor too came out, carrying a basket and pair
of scissors. Lifting her skirts to avoid the lakes of water left by the
garden hose, she stopped in front of a rose-bush, and began to snip off
the shrivelled flowers. The little lady's silvered head and thin, brown
face sustained the shower of sunlight unprotected, and had a gentle
dignity in their freedom.

Presently, as the scissors flittered in and out of the leaves, she,
began talking to herself.

"If girls were more like what they used to be, this would not have
happened. Perhaps we don't understand; it's very easy to forget."
Burying her nose and lips in a rose, she sniffed. "Poor dear girl! It's
such a pity his father is--a--"

"A farmer," said a sleepy voice behind the rosebush.

Miss Naylor leaped. "Greta! How you startled me! A farmer--that
is--an--an agriculturalist!"

"A farmer with vineyards--he told us, and he is not ashamed. Why is it a
pity, Miss Naylor?"

Miss Naylor's lips looked very thin.

"For many reasons, of which you know nothing."

"That is what you always say," pursued the sleepy voice; "and that is
why, when I am to be married, there shall also be a pity."

"Greta!" Miss Naylor cried, "it is not proper for a girl of your age to
talk like that."

"Why?" said Greta. "Because it is the truth?"

Miss Naylor made no reply to this, but vexedly cut off a sound rose,
which she hastily picked up and regarded with contrition. Greta spoke
again:

"Chris said: 'I have got the pictures, I shall tell her'; but I shall
tell you instead, because it was I that told the story."

Miss Naylor stared, wrinkling her nose, and holding the scissors wide
apart....

"Last night," said Greta slowly, "I and Chris went to his studio and
took his pictures, and so, because the gate was shut, I came back to
tell it; and when you asked me where Chris was, I told it; because she
was in the studio all night, and I and Scruff sat up all night, and in
the morning we brought the pictures, and hid them under our beds, and
that