‘And is this pretty Lady of the Lake yours too?’ said Anne; ’what a pretty binding, with the Douglas arms on it!’

‘Yes,’ said Helen, ’that was Fanny’s present; and Jane gave me the pretty forget-me-not brooch I wore yesterday.  You see I have plenty of keep-sakes from the dear people.’

Anne then turned to the portfolio on the table.  Helen shewed her, in the first place, a rather stiff and formal looking forget-me-not, painted by Fanny Staunton, and a carelessly sketched but neatly shaded head drawn by Jane, both which specimens of art Anne tried hard to admire for Helen’s sake, but could not find it in her heart to do so.  Helen’s own drawings, which were landscapes, gave more promise of improvement, and displayed a good deal of taste and freedom of hand, though some were by no means correct in the outline.  Helen pointed out several faults which she candidly acknowledged to be wrong, and some others which she said ‘Lizzie called blunders.’

‘There,’ said she, ’is the house at dear Dykelands; there is my window with the Banksia roses clustering round it, so that I could gather them as I stood in my room.  That room is still to be called Helen’s.  But now, Anne, do you think that line ought to be straight?  Lizzie says it should, but I think the perspective alters it; I am sure I saw it so.’

‘Indeed, Helen,’ said Anne, ’I think the shadow must have deceived you.’  And with a little trouble she proved that Elizabeth was right.

‘Ah!’ said Helen, ’if Lizzie would but have shewn me patiently, instead of saying, ‘Why, Helen, cannot you draw a straight line?’ I should have understood her.’  Then she continued, while taking out India-rubber and pencil to rectify the mistake, ’I used to draw a great deal at dear Dykelands; we had a sketching master, and used to go out with him twice a week, but it was very delightful when we three went alone, when one of us used to read while the others drew.  I am sure these sketches will for ever remind me of those happy days.’

‘Why, Helen,’ said Anne, smiling, ’you speak as if you never meant to be happy again.’

‘Do I?’ said poor Helen; ’I am afraid I do seem rather silly about dear Dykelands.  The other day I was singing

     “My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
      My heart’s in the Highlands, gone chasing the deer,”

when in came Lizzie, and said, “No, Helen,

      Your heart is at Dykelands, your heart’s in the bogs,
      Your heart is at Dykelands, gone chasing the frogs,”

for she is always laughing at it for being so damp, dear place.  And it was before Horace went to school, and he would do nothing but sing it at me all day, and make Winifred do so too.’

Anne could not help laughing.

‘Then you too think me absurd,’ said Helen; ’but if you only knew how happy I was at Dykelands, and how desolate I sometimes feel here, you would not wonder at me.’