while its little mistress was opening cupboards and drawers,
and getting out the neatest and whitest of cambric jackets and
ruffles and petticoats, and bringing forth all accommodations
of combs and brushes. Meanwhile Wych Hazel could not help
seeing some of the tokens about the place that told what kind
of life was lived there. Its spotlessly neat and orderly
condition was one token; but there were signs of business.
Work-baskets, with what seemed fulness of work, were about the
room; books, not in great numbers, but lying in little
business piles, with business covers and the marks of use.
Papers were on one table by the window, with pen and ink and
pencil and cards. And everywhere a simplicity that showed no
atom of needless expenditure. Very unlike Chickaree?

Primrose the while was neat-handedly helping to array her
guest in fresh apparel. She had pretty little hands, and they
were quick and skilful; and as she stooped to try on a slipper
or manage a fastening, Wych Hazel had a view of a beautiful
head of fair brown hair, in quiet arrangement that did not
show all its beauty; and when from time to time the eyes were
lifted, she saw that they were very good eyes; as reposeful as
a mountain tarn, and as deep too, where lay thought shadows as
well as sunshine. They were shining eyes now, with secret
admiration and pleasure and good will and eager interest.

'Are you come to stay a good while at Chickaree? I hope you
will.'

'Maybe--perhaps. O my boots are not wet, Miss Maryland,--and I
don't think I caught enough raindrops to hurt. How kind you