Part 2 (1/2)

”That depends,” said Kate, answering for both. ”We may go up to Maxinkuckee for a little while; but what we'd like to do, what we'd like best-” she paused upon the words with a lifting of her hands and the drawing of a long ecstatic breath, ”would be to make a visit at grandfather's. You can't think how he's urging us to come.”

”Do you mean go to New England?” he exclaimed, sitting up straight on his bundle of straw.

”Yes, to mother's old home,” said Kate. ”Just think, we haven't been there since we were little girls. Mother's been trying to persuade grandfather to come out here, but he says he's too old to make the journey, and that we must come there. He has fairly set his heart on it.”

”And so have the others too,” said Esther. ”Stella's letters have been full of it for the last six months.”

”Stella's that cousin of yours who's such an artist, isn't she?” said Morton. He was looking extremely interested.

”Oh, she's an artist and everything else that's lovely,” said Esther. ”I don't suppose you ever saw the kind of girl that she is. She has a studio in Boston in the winters. She sent me a picture of it once, and it's perfectly charming. And only think, she's been in Europe twice-once she was studying over there. And she's seen those wonderful old places and the famous pictures, and been a part of everything that's beautiful.”

”That's the sort of thing you'd like to do yourself, I suppose,” said the young man, drawing a wisp of straw slowly through his fingers.

”Like it!” she cried. ”To travel, to study, to see beautiful things, to hear beautiful music, and to be in touch every day with charming, cultivated people! Oh, if I had half a chance, wouldn't I take it!”

There was something very wistful in her voice as she said it, but not more wistful than the look that came into Morton Elwell's eyes at that moment. He turned them away from her face, and the rattle of the big wagon filled the silence.

”You ought to show Mort that picture of Stella you got the other day,”

said Kate, suddenly.

Esther took a letter from her pocket. ”I brought it out to the farm to-day on purpose to show your aunt,” she said, and she handed him a photograph which he regarded for a moment with a bewildered expression.

”Why, it looks like a picture of Greek statuary,” he said; ”one of the old G.o.ddesses, or something of that sort.”

”That's just the way she meant to have it look,” said Esther, triumphantly. ”You see how artistic she is.”

The young man still looked mystified. ”But is her hair really white, like that?” he asked.

”Why, of course not,” said Esther, in a rather disgusted tone. ”She powdered it and did it in a low coil for the sake of the picture. Then she put the white folds over her shoulders to make it look like a bust against the dark background, and she had the lights and shadows arranged to give just the right effect. Isn't it exquisite?”

”I can't say I admire it,” said the young man, grimly; ”I'd rather see people look as if they were made of flesh and blood.”

Kate laughed. She had privately expressed the same opinion herself, but she did not choose to encourage him in criticising her relatives.

”You're an insensible Philistine, Mort Elwell,” she said, with a sly glance at her sister. ”That's what Stella'd call you, and she knows.”

The point of the taunt was lost on the young man, but he had an impression, derived from early lessons in the Sabbath School, that the Philistines were a race of heathen idolaters, and he resented the charge with spirit.

”You'd better call your cousin the Philistine,” he retorted; ”I'm sure I have no liking for graven images.”

This was too much for Esther. She s.n.a.t.c.hed the picture from his hand and bent a look of admiration upon the shapely white head, with its cla.s.sic profile and downcast eyes, which made ample amends for the cold scrutiny to which it had just been subjected.

”It is perfectly beautiful,” she said, with slow emphasis; ”I don't see how you can be unappreciative.”

Morton did not press his obnoxious opinion. He grew rather silent, and except for an occasional sally from Kate, conversation was at a low ebb for the rest of the way.

Meanwhile the sunset flamed and faded in the west. The evening breeze sprang up, and cool, restful shadows fell on the wide, rich landscape.

”Home at last!” cried Kate, as a bend in the road brought them suddenly upon a house of the colonial style, shaded by fine old trees, at the edge of town. ”And there's mother in the doorway looking for us.”