When Mildred had packed up to go home on the occasion of her former visit she had invited Mrs. Trent to take her pick of her drawings for her own.

“All but this,” Mildred had said.  “This which I call ’Sunset in the Marshland’ I am going to give to Dorian.”

The mother had looked over the pile of sketches.  There was a panel in crayon which the artist said was the big cottonwood down by the Corners.  Mrs. Trent remarked that she never would have known it, but then, she added apologetically, she never had an eye for art.  There was a winter scene where the houses were so sunk into the earth that only the roofs were visible. (Mrs. Trent had often wondered why the big slanting roofs were the only artistic thing about a house).  Another picture showed a high, camel-backed bridge, impossible to cross by anything more real than the artist’s fancy.  Mrs. Trent had chosen the bridge because of its pretty colors.

“Where shall we hang Dorian’s picture?” Mildred had asked.

They had gone into his room.  Mildred had looked about.

“The only good light is on that wall.”  She had pointed to the space occupied by Dorian’s “best girl.”

And so Lorna Doone had come down and Mildred’s study of the marshlands glowed with its warmer colors in its place.

The plowboy arose from the grass.  “Get up there,” he said to his horses.  “We must be going, or there’ll be very little plowing today.”

Carlia Duke was the first person to greet Mildred as she alighted at the Trent gate.  Carlia knew of her coming and was waiting.  Mildred put her arm about her friend and kissed her, somewhat to the younger girl’s confused pleasure.  The two girls went up the path to the house where Mrs. Trent met them.

“Where’s your baggage?” asked the mother of the arrival, seeing she carried only a small bag and her violin case.

“This is all.  I’m not going to paint this time—­just going to rest, mother said, so I do not need a lot of baggage.”

“Well, come in Honey; and you too, Carlia.  Dinner is about ready, an’ you’ll stay.”

By a little urging Carlia remained, and pretty soon, Dorian came stamping in to be surprised.

“Yes; we’re all here,” announced Carlia, as she tossed her black curls and laughed at his confusion.

“I see you are,” he replied, as he shook hands with Mildred.  After which ceremony, it did not just look right to slight the other girl, so he shook hands with her also, much to her amusement.

“How do you do, Mr. Trent” she said.

“Carlia is such a tease,” explained the mother.

“For which I like her,” added Mildred.

“We all do.  Even Dorian here, who is usually afraid of girls, makes quite a chum of her.”

“Well, we’re neighbors,” justified the girl.