octor agreed that change of scene was what she wanted. Her
life in town was too dull.

Harry Lowder called that evening, but Henrietta had taken the
precaution to be sick abed. At eight o'clock the next morning she was
on the Harlem train.

"You see, I brought her home," said Periwinkle to her grandmother, in
confidence. "I didn't like Cousin John's folks. They wasn't glad to see
me; and I didn't like to leave Henrietta there."

But Henrietta, who had blossomed out into something quite different
from the Henrietta of other times, made no explanation except that she
was sick. For a week she took little interest in anything, ate but
little, and went about in a dazed way, resuming her old cares as though
she had never given them up. Somehow she seemed a fine lady in the
dignity of manner and the self-possession that she had taken on with
characteristic quickness of apprehension and imitation, and Mrs. Newton
felt as if the housework were unsuited to her. Even her father looked
at her with a sort of respect, and forbore to chide her as had been his
wont.

But when a week had passed she suddenly got out her material and began
to draw. Periwinkle was set up first for a model, then her father and
her mother, and then the dog, as he lay sleeping before the fire, had
his portrait taken, to Periwinkle's delight. So persistent was her
ambitious industry that every living thing on the place came in for a
sketch. But Periwinkle was the favorite.

Rob Riley came home for July and August, the work in the yard being
dull. He kept aloof from Henrietta, and she nodded to him with a severe
and almost disdainful air that made him wretched. After three or four
weeks of this coolness, during which Henrietta got a reputation for
pride in the whole country, Rob grew desperate. What did he care for
the "stuck-up" girl? He would have it out, anyhow, the next time he had
a chance.

They met one day on the little bridge that crossed the brook near the
schoolhouse. Henrietta nodded a bare recognition.

"You didn't treat me that way once, Henrietta. What's the matter? Have
I done anything wrong? Can't you be friendly?"

"Why don't _you_ be friendly?" said the girl, looking down.

"I--I?" said Rob.

"You haven't spoken to me since you came home."

"Well, that isn't my fault; you wouldn't look at me. I'm not going to
run after a person that lives in a fine house and that only nods her
head at me."

"I don't live in a fine house, but in