Everything, as the title indicated, had been taken from the mountains—­from those heights where she had spent the last few years of her life.

It had been her custom, after gathering the wild, beautiful things, to carefully arrange them and then copy them upon paper.

This amusement had served to pass away many an otherwise tedious hour, and she had a portfolio full of these charming designs, which were likely to prove of great value to her in the future, as we shall see.

Mr. Knight took ample time for his examination of her work, so much, indeed, that Virgie began to grow weary and anxious to get back to her little one.

But at last the gentleman leaned back in his chair, took off his spectacles, and turned his keen, searching glance full upon his visitor’s face.

“Madam,” he said, “it is not my custom to speak extravagantly upon any subject; but I am bound to admit that this is the finest thing of its kind that it has ever been my privilege to examine.”

A beautiful color sprang into Virgie’s cheeks at this high praise.  She had known that her work was well done, but she had not expected to be told of it quite so frankly or emphatically.

She bowed, and murmured her thanks for his appreciation

“What do you want to do with it?” Mr. Knight asked.

“Get it published as a holiday souvenir, and make it pay me a handsome sum for my trouble,” Virgie responded, in a business-like tone, and then was half-frightened at her own boldness.

The publisher’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

“What would you consider a handsome sum?” he inquired.

Virgie thought a moment; then she replied: 

“You have offered one, two, and three hundred dollars as prizes for the simple souvenirs described in your advertisement, and surely a work like this must be worth much more.”

“Very true; but will you name some price for it?  I confess that I should like to take it, if you do not value it too highly.”

Virgie was astonished at this.

She had not expected to be allowed to name her own price.  She had supposed, if her work was approved at all, to receive some moderate offer, which she could accept or decline as she saw fit.

But she shrank from setting a value upon her work.  It was her first effort, and she had no more idea of its worth, as a work of art, than a child.

“Sir,” she returned, “I will tell you frankly that I never did anything of the kind before; that is, I have never attempted to dispose of any of my work and I do not know what it ought to bring me.  I have been suddenly thrown upon my own resources, and it occurred to me that I might turn my one talent to some account.”

“Your ‘one talent’ will prove a very valuable one, if rightly employed,” interposed the publisher, smiling.

“Thank you,” returned Virgie, flushing again.  “And now, since my little book pleases you, will you kindly make me an offer?”