ad and shoulders above
most of the women I saw; but they were of her sort, if that is what you
mean."

"That is what I mean. She is not a bit like people here. We must seem
very stupid to her, Lois."

"Shampuashuh people are not stupid."

"Well, aunt Anne isn't stupid; but she is not like Mrs. Barclay. And
she don't want us to be like Mrs. Barclay."

"No danger!"--said Lois, very busy now at her work.

"But wouldn't you _like_ to be like Mrs. Barclay?"

"Yes."

"So would I."

"Well, we can, in the things that are most valuable," said Lois,
standing still again for a moment to look at her sister.

"O, yes, books-- But I would like to be graceful like Mrs. Barclay. You
would call that not valuable; but I care more for it than for all the
rest. Her beautiful manners."

"She _has_ beautiful manners," said Lois. "I do not think manners can
be taught. They cannot be imitated."

"Why not?"

"O, they wouldn't be natural. And what suits one might not suit
another. A very handsome nose of somebody else might not be good on my
face. No, they would not be natural."

"You need not wish for anybody's nose but your own," said Madge.
"_That_ will do, and so will mine, I'm thankful! But what makes her
look so unhappy, Lois?"

"She does look unhappy."

"She looks as if she had lost all her friends."

"She has got _one_, here," said Lois, sweeping away.

"But what good can you do her?"

"Nothing. It isn't likely that she will ever even know the fact."

"She's doing a good deal for us."

A little later, Mrs. Barclay came down to her room. She found it, as
always, in bright order; the fire casting red reflections into every
corner, and making pleasant contrast with the grey without. For it was
cloudy and windy weather, and wintry neutral tints were all that could
be seen abroad; the clouds swept along grey overhead, and the earth lay
brown and bare below. But in Mrs. Barclay's room was the cheeriest play
of light and colour; here it touched the rich leather bindings of
books, there the black and white of an engraving; here it was caught in
tin folds of the chintz curtains which were ruddy and purple in hue,
and again it warmed up the old-fashioned furniture and lost itself in a
brown tablecover. Mrs. Barclay's eye loved harmonies, and it found them
even in this country-furnished room at Shampuashuh. Though, indeed, the
piles of books came from afar, and so did the large portfolio of
engravings, and Mrs. Barclay's