but very clean, bricks.  Behind it there were meadows and orchards, a barn and a pond; and facing it, a short distance along the road, on the opposite side, stood a smaller house, painted white, with external shutters painted green, a little garden on one hand and an orchard on the other.  All this was shining in the morning air, through which the simple details of the picture addressed themselves to the eye as distinctly as the items of a “sum” in addition.

A second young lady presently came out of the house, across the piazza, descended into the garden and approached the young girl of whom I have spoken.  This second young lady was also thin and pale; but she was older than the other; she was shorter; she had dark, smooth hair.  Her eyes, unlike the other’s, were quick and bright; but they were not at all restless.  She wore a straw bonnet with white ribbons, and a long, red, India scarf, which, on the front of her dress, reached to her feet.  In her hand she carried a little key.

“Gertrude,” she said, “are you very sure you had better not go to church?”

Gertrude looked at her a moment, plucked a small sprig from a lilac-bush, smelled it and threw it away.  “I am not very sure of anything!” she answered.

The other young lady looked straight past her, at the distant pond, which lay shining between the long banks of fir-trees.  Then she said in a very soft voice, “This is the key of the dining-room closet.  I think you had better have it, if any one should want anything.”

“Who is there to want anything?” Gertrude demanded.  “I shall be all alone in the house.”

“Some one may come,” said her companion.

“Do you mean Mr. Brand?”

“Yes, Gertrude.  He may like a piece of cake.”

“I don’t like men that are always eating cake!” Gertrude declared, giving a pull at the lilac-bush.

Her companion glanced at her, and then looked down on the ground.  “I think father expected you would come to church,” she said.  “What shall I say to him?”

“Say I have a bad headache.”

“Would that be true?” asked the elder lady, looking straight at the pond again.

“No, Charlotte,” said the younger one simply.

Charlotte transferred her quiet eyes to her companion’s face.  “I am afraid you are feeling restless.”

“I am feeling as I always feel,” Gertrude replied, in the same tone.

Charlotte turned away; but she stood there a moment.  Presently she looked down at the front of her dress.  “Does n’t it seem to you, somehow, as if my scarf were too long?” she asked.

Gertrude walked half round her, looking at the scarf.  “I don’t think you wear it right,” she said.

“How should I wear it, dear?”

“I don’t know; differently from that.  You should draw it differently over your shoulders, round your elbows; you should look differently behind.”

“How should I look?” Charlotte inquired.