ies of absorbed wrinkles that
threw out supporting works across a puckered forehead.

"It's too soon to speak in detail. I propose to inform myself generally
before doing that."

"That's an excellent plan."

Hartwell looked up sharply. Firmstone's eyes seemed to neutralise the
emphasis of his words.

"Supper is ready when you are. Will Miss Hartwell be down soon?"

Miss Hartwell rustled into the room, and her brother led the way to the
cook-house.

Bennie had heeded Firmstone's words. Perhaps there was a lack of
delicate taste in the assortment of colours, but scarlet-pinks, deep red
primroses, azure columbines, and bright yellow mountain sunflowers
glared at each other, each striving to outreach its fellow above a
matted bed of mossy phlox. Hartwell prided himself, among other things,
on a correct eye.

"There's a colour scheme for you, Beatrice; you can think of it in your
next study."

Bennie was standing by in much the same attitude as a suspicious
bumble-bee.

"Mention your opinion in your prayers, Mr. Hartwell, not to me. They're
as God grew them. I took them in with one sweep of my fist."

Miss Hartwell's eyes danced from Firmstone to Bennie.

"Your cook has got me this time, Firmstone." Hartwell grinned his
appreciation of Bennie's retort.

They seated themselves, and Bennie began serving the soup. Hartwell was
the last. Bennie handed his plate across the table. They were a little
cramped for room, and Bennie was saving steps.

"It's a pity you don't have a little more room here, Bennie, so you
could shine as a waiter."

"Good grub takes the shortest cut to a hungry man with no remarks on
style. There's only one trail when they meet."

Hartwell's manner showed a slight resentment that he was trying to
conceal. "This soup is excellent. It's rather highly seasoned"--he
looked slyly at Bennie--"but then there's no rose without its thorns."

"True for you. But there's a hell of a lot of thorns with the roses, I
take note. Beg pardon, Miss!"

Miss Hartwell laughed. "You have had excellent success in growing them
together, Bennie."

"Thank you, Miss!" Bennie was flushed with pleasure. "I've heard tell
that there were roses without thorns, but you're the first of the kind
I've seen."

Bennie had ideas of duty, even to undeserving objects. Consequently,
Hartwell's needs were as carefully attended to as his sister's or
Firmstone's, but in spite of all duty there is a graciousness of manner
that