"Sure--but what is that?" The rider had caught sight of the picture.
"Did you make that?"

"Yes; I painted it."

"My!" She dismounted, and with arm through bridle, she and the horse
came up for a closer view of the picture. The girl looked at it mutely
for a moment. "It's pretty" she said; "I wish I could make a picture
like that."

Mildred smiled at her. She was such a round, rosy girl, so full of
health and life and color. Not such a little girl either, now a nearer
view was obtained. She was only a year or two younger than Mildred
herself.

"I wish I could do what you can," said the painter of pictures.

"I--what? I can't do anything like that."

"No; but you can ride a horse, and stop runaway cows. You can do a lot
of things that I cannot do because you are stronger than I am. I wish I
had some of that rosy red in your cheeks."

"You can have some of mine," laughed the other, "for I have more than
enough; but you wouldn't like the freckles."

"I wouldn't mind them, I'm sure; but let me thank you for what you did,
and let's get acquainted." Mildred held out her hand, which the other
took somewhat shyly. "Don't you have to go home with your cows?"