"Who was that child?" her mother asked, as she bent over her, kissing
her flushed face, and brushing a yellow curl back from her forehead.

"She's come to Avondale to stay all Winter with Princess Polly, and
with Rose Atherton. I wanted to know her, I mean I _thought_ I did,
but now I don't. I brought her in to see the portraits in our hall,
and just for fun I told her that the picture of the little brown eyed
girl was me.

"She wouldn't believe it, and that made me mad. Of course it really
wasn't a portrait of me, but if I _said_ it was, she ought to believe
it?"

"My precious darling!" cried Mrs. Harcourt, "the children _never_ seem
to be able to understand your wonderful imagination. The child was
absurd to go off leaving you so unhappy. I'll ask Mrs. Sherwood what
sort of child she is."

Gwen, having been petted and assured that her mother thought her
perfect, ran from the room, and down to the garden where she sought
something with which to amuse herself.

The cook, looking from the rear window, frowned darkly.

Gwen did not see her, because, with her back toward the house, she was
trying to see if it would be possible to tie a knot in the cat's tail.

The old cat objected, and struck at her, missing however, because Gwen
jumped back.