le;
the fragrance was almost stifling, but Cynthia heeded it not.

"Now," she whispered, with the slow smile coming to her lips, "now,
Sandy Morley, I'm going to hang your picture in its place!"

The large gray eyes fastened upon the empty space near the chimney, the
space where, when the afternoon was fair and clear, the western sun
poured its light through the tangle of vines at the window and fell
full upon it.

"The man who cut his way through his enemies." Cynthia knew her
"Pilgrim's Progress" as many children know their nursery rhymes. It
was her only guide to life, but she interpreted it for herself. "The
Biggest of Them All." And then the girl laughed her rich, rippling
laugh.

It was Madam Bubble now who stood before the fireplace, a gentle
creature with little head bent forward in listening attitude and a
waiting, pleading look in the fine eyes. A bit too tall and thin was
she for grace, but Time would take care of that--and, fortunately,
Cynthia was many-sided. The dull, monotonous life of Stoneledge had
retarded development. Never having mingled with children, she was
untested and untried along certain lines. Poor, shabby Sandy Morley
had been and was her only interpretation of youth as it had touched her
personally--he and her ungoverned imagination had supplied the motive
power, so far, for the foundation of her emotions.

"I--helped you!" she said softly to "The Biggest of Them All"--"I. And
wherever you are you will remember that."

There was an old, cracked, dimmed mirror between the chimney-place and
the window, and tiptoeing to that, Cynthia viewed herself as if for the
first time in her life. The image was strange to her; confusing and
half fearsome. It was not the reflection of the awkward, thin Cynthia
Walden that she saw; Cynthia of the long braids of hair and short
patched gingham gown of irregular length--owing to many washings and
shrinkings. It was the reflection of something Cynthia was to be some
day who looked back at the questioning girl. Slowly the colour rose to
the pale face and the big eyes flinched.

"Stand straighter!" commanded the inquisitor before the mirror. The
shoulders braced, but too long had the slender neck bent forward to
obey the sudden exertion now. Cynthia would always carry that waiting
pose!

The ugly checked gown next caught the critical eyes and the impotent
hands pulled it down at the waist, while a sense of its unloveliness
brought a quiv