of it, clear and fine in its lines and in the
bare quiet of the walls. Betty liked to slip away into Miss Stone's
room--and stand very still, looking about her, hardly breathing. It was
like a church--only clearer and sweeter and freer--perhaps it was the
woods--with the wind whispering up there. She always held her breath to
listen in Miss Stone's room; and when she came back, to her own, child's
room--with its canopied bed and royal draperies and colour and charm,
she held the stillness and whiteness of Miss Stone's room in her
heart--it was like a bird nestling there. Betty had never held a bird,
but she often lifted her hands to them as they flew--and once, in a
dream, one had fluttered into the lifted hands and she had held it close
and felt the wind blow softly. It was like Miss Stone's room. But Miss
Stone was not like that. You could hug Nono and tell her secrets and
what you wanted for luncheon. Sometimes she would let you have it--if
you were good--_very_ good--and Nono knew everything. She knew so much
that Betty Harris, looking from her window, sighed softly. No one could
know as much as Nono knew--not ever.

"All ready, Betty." It was Miss Stone in the doorway again. And with a
last look down out of the window at the horses and the shimmering lake,
the child came across the room, skipping a little. "I should like to
wear my hat with the cherries, please," she said. "I like to feel them
bob in the sun when it shines--they bob so nicely--" She paused with a
quick look--"They _do_ bob, don't they, Nono?"

"I don't think I ever noticed," said Miss Stone. She was still smiling
as she touched the tumbled hair, putting it in place.

"But they _must_ bob," said Betty. "I think I should have noticed your
cherries bobbing, Miss Stone." She was looking intently at the quiet
cheek close beside her own, with its little flush of pink, and the
greyness of the hair that lay beside it. "I notice all your things,
Nono," she said softly.

Miss Stone smiled again and drew her to her. "I will look to-day, Betty,
when we drive--"

The child nodded--"Yes, they will bob then. I can see them--even with
my eyes not shut, I can see them bob--Please, Constance--" She turned to
the stiff maid who had come in--"I want my grey coat and red-cherry hat.
We're going to drive--in the sun."

The maid brought the garments and put them on with careful touch, tying
the strings under the lifted chin.

The child nodded to her gaily. "Good