“Why?”

“Well, I don’t seem able to breathe in the city, with its smoke and its noise and its crowding together of houses and people.”

“You ought to go to Chicago or New York or Boston,” she replied.  “Then you would see some crowds and hear some noises.”

“Have you been there?”

“I studied drawing and painting in Boston.  Next to farming, what would you like to do?”

He thought for a moment—­“When I was a little fellow—­”

“Which you are not,” she interrupted as she changed brushes.

“I thought that if I ever could attain to the position of standing behind a counter in a store where I could take a piece of candy whenever I wanted it, I should have attained to the heights of happiness.  But, now, of course—­”

“Well, and now?”

“I believe I’d like to be a school teacher.”

“Why a teacher?”

“Because I’d then have the chance to read a lot of books.”

“You like to read, don’t you? and you like candy, and you like pictures.”

“Especially, when someone else paints them.”

Mildred arose, stepped back to get the distance for examination.  “I don’t think I had better use more color,” she commented, “but those cat-tails in the corner need touching up a bit.”

“I suppose you have been to school a lot?” he asked.

“No; just completed the high school; then, not being very strong, mother thought it best not to send me to the University; but she lets me dabble a little in painting and in music.”

Dorian could not keep his eyes off this girl who had already completed the high school course which he had not yet begun; besides, she had learned a lot of other things which would be beyond him to ever reach.  Even though he were an ignoramus, he could bask in the light of her greater learning.  She did not resent that.

“What do you study in High School!” he asked.

“Oh, a lot of things—­don’t you know?” She again looked up at him.

“Not exactly.”

“We studied algebra and mathematics and English and English literature, and French, and a lot of other things.”

“What’s algebra like?”

“Oh dear, do you want me to draw it?”

“Can you draw it?”

“About as well as I can tell it in words.  Algebra is higher mathematics; yes, that’s it.”

“And what’s the difference between English and English literature?”

“English is grammar and how sentences are or should be made.  English literature is made up mostly of the reading of the great authors, such as Milton and Shakespeare,”

“Gee!” exclaimed Dorian, “that would be great fun.”

“Fun? just you try it.  Nobody reads these writers now only in school, where they have to.  But say, Dorian”—­she arose to inspect her work again.  “Have I too much purple in that bunch of salt-grass on the left?  What do you think?”