Felix and I couldn't keep our eyes off her. Crimson-cheeked,
shining-eyed from her haste, her face was like a rose of youth.
But when the Story Girl spoke, we forgot to look at Felicity.

"About ten years after Grandfather and Grandmother King were
married, a young man came to visit them. He was a distant
relative of grandmother's and he was a Poet. He was just
beginning to be famous. He was VERY famous afterward. He came
into the orchard to write a poem, and he fell asleep with his
head on a bench that used to be under grandfather's tree. Then
Great-Aunt Edith came into the orchard. She was not a Great-Aunt
then, of course. She was only eighteen, with red lips and black,
black hair and eyes. They say she was always full of mischief.
She had been away and had just come home, and she didn't know
about the Poet. But when she saw him, sleeping there, she
thought he was a cousin they had been expecting from Scotland.
And she tiptoed up--so--and bent over--so--and kissed his cheek.
Then he opened his big blue eyes and looked up into Edith's face.
She blushed as red as a rose, for she knew she had done a
dreadful thing. This could not be her cousin from Scotland. She
knew, for he had written so to her, that he had eyes as black as
her own. Edith ran away and hid; and of course she felt still
worse when she found out that he was a famous poet. But he wrote
one of his most beautiful poems on it afterwards and sent it to
her--and it was published in one of his books."

We had SEEN it all--the sleeping genius--the roguish, red-lipped
girl--the kiss dropped as lightly as a rose-petal on the
sunburned cheek.