discouraged under all the circumstances, and she tried to keep
Cephas on the subject of his daily tasks and his mother's
rheumatism until she could escape from his over-appreciative
society.

"How do you like my last job?" he inquired as they passed his
father's house. "Some think I've got the ell a little dite too
yaller. Folks that ain't never handled a brush allers think they
can mix paint better 'n them that knows their trade."

"If your object was to have everybody see the ell a mile away,
you've succeeded," said Patty cruelly. She never flung the poor
boy a civil word for fear of getting something warmer than
civility in return.

"It'll tone down," Cephas responded, rather crestfallen. "I
wanted a good bright lastin' shade. 'T won't look so yaller when
father lets me paint the house to match, but that won't be till
next year. He makes fun of the yaller color same as you; says a
home's something you want to forget when you're away from it.
Mother says the two rooms of the ell are big enough for somebody
to set up housekeepin' in. What do you think?"

"I never think," returned Patty with a tantalizing laugh.
"Good-night, Cephas; thank you for giving me a lift!"



VII