Nella-Rose became demure at once and presented herself at the door.

"Do I look it?" she said, turning her wonderful little face up for
inspection. Something in the words and in the appealing beauty made Marg
quiver. Had happiness and justice been meted out to Marg Greyson she
would have been the tenderest of sisters to Nella-Rose. Several years
lay between them; the younger girl was encroaching upon the diminishing
rights of the older. The struggle between them was as old as life
itself, but it could not kill utterly what should have existed ardently.

"You got to tote these things"--Marg held forth the basket--"down to the
Centre for trade, and you can fetch back the lil' things like pepper,
salt, and sugar. Tell Cal Merrivale to fetch the rest and bargain for
what I've got ready here, when he drives by. If you start now you can be
back by sundown."

To Marg's surprise, Nella-Rose offered no protest to the seven-mile
walk, nor to the heavy load. She promptly pulled her sunbonnet to the
proper angle on her head and gripped the basket.

"Ain't you goin' to eat first?" asked Marg.

"No. Put in a bite; I'll eat it by the way."

As the Centre was in the opposite direction from the Hollow, as seven
miles going and seven miles coming would subdue the spirits and energy
even of Nella-Rose, Marg was perplexed. However, she prepared food,
tucked it in the basket, and even went so far as to pin her sister's
shawl closely under her chin. Then she watched the slim, straight figure
depart--still puzzled but at peace for the day, at least.