"You always were as pretty as a picture," he said slowly, his
nerves tingling, "if a farmer's opinion is worth anything in that
line."

This was twaddle, of course, and Martin knew it. Rather it was
the city person's point of view he was inclined to belittle. He
had the confidence in his superiority that comes from complete
economic security and his pride of place was even more deeply
rooted. Men of Martin's class who are able to gaze, in at least
one direction, as far as eye can see over their own land, are
shrewd, sharp, intelligent, and far better informed on current
events and phases of thought than the people of commercial
centers even imagine. There is nothing of the peasant about them.
Martin knew quite well that dressed in his best clothes and put
among a crowd of strange business men he would be taken for one
of their own--so easy was his bearing, so naturally correct his
speech.

Something of all this had already registered in Rose's mind.
"Come on, Uncle Martin," she laughed, "flatter me. I just love
it!"

"Very well, then, I'll say that you've come back as pretty a
little woman as ever I've laid eyes on."

"Is that all? Oh, Uncle Martin, just pretty? The boys usually say
I'm beautiful."

"You are beautiful--as beautiful as a rose. That's what you are,