Miss Thorley was studying Mary
Rose from behind half shut eyes. Just how should she pose her?

"Oh, but she isn't grouchy!" Mary Rose flew to the defense of her new
friend. "She was just lonesome. Now that she has Germania for company,
she is very, very pleasant. I go to see her every day."

Miss Thorley shrugged her shoulders. "Every one to their taste. Stand
here, Mary Rose, so that the sun will fall on that yellow mop of yours.
Would your heart break if I took off that hair ribbon? I'd rather your
hair was loose."

"Aunt Kate put it there," doubtfully.

"I'll put it back before Aunt Kate sees you. Now, just hold Jenny Lind's
cage under one arm and these under the other." She handed her a couple
of blue and white jars, labeled with big letters--"Henderson-Bingham.
Jam Manufacturers." "Can you hold another? Don't say yes if you can't,
for it is tiresome to pose when you're not used to it. Now then, how is
that, Blanche? Isn't she ducky? You know it's moving day, Mary Rose,
and you won't trust anyone but yourself to move what you like best, your
bird and your jam."

"I just did move," proudly, "from Mifflin to Waloo."

"Exactly. Quaint, isn't she?" Miss Thorley murmured to Miss Carter.
"How old are you, Mary Rose?"

Before Mary Rose could stammer that she was going on fourteen Miss Carter
broke in to say that she was off.

"Be good to Mary Rose," she begged. "And, Mary Rose, when you are tired,
say so. Miss Thorley will forget all about you when she is interested in
the picture and she'll let you stand there until you drop. I know. You
have a hard pose with your arms like that and when you are tired be sure
and say so."

"Oh, run along, Blanche, and leave us alone," Miss Thorley said
impatiently as she got her drawing board and brushes and sat down beside
the little table that held her paints.

Miss Carter only waited to make a face at Mary Rose before she shut the
door and left the artist and her model together. Neither spoke for a few
moments. Mary Rose was too interested in watching Miss Thorley's
wonderful fingers and Miss Thorley was too intent on her work for
conversation. At last Mary Rose could keep still no longer.

"Are you really an enchanted princess?" she asked eagerly.

"I should scarcely call myself that, Mary Rose. A working woman is the
way I say it."

"Then what did Mr. Jerry mean? Don't you think he is an awfully nice
man? He makes me think of Alvin Lewis in