her mother's shoulder. From that vantage point she ejaculated,
"Oh, how beautiful she is!"

What she looked at was an unset miniature of a young girl,
with a wealth of darkest brown hair, powdered to a gray, and
a little straight nose with just a suggestion of a tilt to it, giving
the mignon face an expression of pride that the rest of the
countenance by no means aided. For the remaining features,
the mouth was still that of a child, the short upper lip projecting
markedly over the nether one, producing not so much
a pouty look as one of innocence; the eyes were brilliant
black, or at least were shadowed to look it by the long lashes,
and the black eyebrows were slender and delicately arched
upon a low forehead.

"Art a nizey, Janice," cried her mother, "not to know thine
own face?"

"Mommy!" exclaimed the girl. "Is--am I as pretty
as that?"

"'T is vastly flattered," said her mother, quickly. "I should
scarce know it."

"Nay, Matilda," dissented the squire, who was now also
gazing at the miniature. "'T is a good phiz of our lass, and
but does her justice. Who ever sent it ye, Jan?"

"I suppose 't was Mr. Evatt," confessed Janice.