cousin: "I'm staying for a reason, Thinkright!" she said. "I've had
an idea. I believe it's a good one."

He patted her shoulder. "That's right, that's right." He gestured
toward the rolling expanse about them. "For every drop of water in that
ocean there are thousands of possibilities of good for every one of
God's children. The shutters are open, little one. Why shouldn't the
blessing flow in?"

And so began for Sylvia the visit which always afterward stood out in
her memory unique in the poignancy of its novel impressions. Despite
the simplicity of life at Anemone Cottage, there was an order and
smoothness in the management of details which constantly attracted and
charmed the guest. The poetry of the wild enchanting surroundings was
ever sounding a new note in sky or sea or flower, and the companionship
of Edna Derwent was an experience which Sylvia seized upon with an
eagerness wholly devoid of worldly considerations.

It was on a Friday that Thinkright had left her at the island. During
that night a northeast wind sprang up, and on Saturday a storm
prevented the expedition after berries. It was a wonderful day to
Sylvia.

Torrents of rain beat upon the windows, the atmosphere was a blur
through which the surf thundered mysteriously.

Logs blazed merrily in the great fireplace. Sylvia found a feast of
many courses in the illustrations of the magazines. Edna was interested
to see her discrimination.

"Oh, I remember," she said. "Miss Lacey told me your father was an
artist."

Miss Martha was sitting by the fire darning stockings, and at this she
gave an involuntary alert glance at her niece where she sat with Edna
by the round table, her head bent above one of the periodicals.

"My father never learned to apply himself. He was not deeply interested
in his work," replied Sylvia. The blue eyes looked up into Edna's dark
ones. "No one ever taught my father how to think right," she added.

"I see," returned Miss Derwent; "but your interest must have been a
great help to him."

"No, I was never any help to him. As I look back I seem to myself to
have been only a chrysalis. I had eyes and saw not, and ears and heard
not. I only began to live when I came to the Mill Farm. Poor father!"

Edna's eyes were soft. "I understand," she said.

Miss Lacey did not understand, but she suspected. She saw the look that
passed between the two girls, and remembered Thinkright's peculiar
views and Edna's adherence to them.