and her eyes the colour of the flower."

[Sidenote: Barbara]

"What colour is your hair, Barbara?" He had asked the question many
times.

"The colour of ripe corn, Daddy. Don't you remember my telling you?"

He leaned forward to stroke the shining braids. "And your eyes?"

"Like the larkspur that grows in the garden."

"I know--your dear mother's eyes." He touched her face gently as he
spoke. "Your skin is so smooth--is it fair?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"I think you must be beautiful; I have asked Miriam so often, but she
will not tell me. She only says you look well enough and something like
your mother. Are you beautiful?"

"Oh, Daddy! Daddy!" laughed Barbara, in confusion. "You mustn't ask such
questions! Didn't you say you had made two songs? What is the other
one?"

Miriam sat in the dining-room, out of sight but within hearing. Having
observed that in her presence they laughed less, she spent her evenings
alone unless they urged her to join them. She had a newspaper more than
a week old, but, as yet, she had not read it. She sat staring into the