Betty Harris sat very still--her hands in her lap, her face lifted to
the breeze that touched it swiftly and fingered her hair and swept past.
Presently she looked up with a nod--as if the breeze reminded her. "I
should like to see Mr. Achilles," she said.

"Not to-day," answered Miss Stone, "we must do the errands for mother
to-day, you know."

The child's face fell. "I wanted to see Mr. Achilles," she said simply.
She sat very quiet, her eyes on the lake. When she looked up, the eyes
had brimmed over.

"I didn't mean to," said the child. She was searching for her
handkerchief and the little cherries bobbed forward. "I didn't know they
would spill!" She had found the handkerchief now and was wiping them
away, and she smiled at Miss Stone--a brave smile--that was going to be
happy--

Miss Stone smiled back, with a little head-shake. "Foolish, Betty!"

"I didn't expect them," said the child, "I was just thinking about
Mr. Achilles and they came--just came!--They just came!" she repeated
sternly. She gave a final dab to the handkerchief and stowed it away,
sitting very erect and still.

Miss Stone's eyes studied her face. "We cannot go to-day," she said,
"--and to-morrow we start for the country. Perhaps--" she paused,
thinking it out.