her into town, and now worried her more than dust, or heat, or the
ceaseless clatter of tongues. Tom, Dick, and Harry's unmended hose
persisted in dancing a spectral jig before her mental eye, mother's
querulous complaints spoilt the song she hummed to cheer herself, and
little May's wistful face put the goddess of beauty entirely out of
countenance.

"It's no use; I can't work till the clay is wet again. Where is
Giovanni?" she asked, throwing down her tools with a petulant gesture
and a dejected air.

"He is probably playing truant in the empty upper rooms, as usual. I
can't wait for him any longer, so I'm doing his work myself," answered
Miss Dickenson, who was tenderly winding a wet bandage round her
Juno's face, one side of which was so much plumper than the other that
it looked as if the Queen of Olympus was being hydropathically treated
for a severe fit of ague.

"I'll go and find the little scamp; a run will do me good; so will a
breath of air and a view of the park from the upper windows."

Doffing her apron, Psyche strolled away up an unfrequented staircase
to the empty apartments, which seemed to be too high even for the
lovers of High Art. On the western side they were shady and cool, and,
leaning from one of the windows, Psyche watched the feathery tree-tops
ruffled by the balmy wind, that brought spring odors from the hills,
lying green and sunny far away. Silence and solitude were such
pleasant companions that the girl forgot herself, till a shrill
whistle disturbed her day-dreams, and reminded her what she came for.
Following the sound she found the little Italian errand-boy busily