wax flowers and fruit, covered by a bell-shaped glass shade. Miss
Hitty's album and her Bible were placed near it with mathematical
precision. On the opposite wall was a hair wreath, made from the
shorn locks of departed Smiths by Miss Hitty's mother. The proud
possessor felt a covert reproach in the fact that she herself was
unable to make hair wreaths. It was a talent for which she had great
admiration.

Araminta rocked back and forth in her low chair by the window. She
hummed a bit of "Sweet Bye and Bye" to herself, for hymns were the
only songs she knew. She could play some of them, with one hand, on
the melodeon in the corner, but she dared not touch the yellow keys
of the venerated instrument except when Miss Hitty was out.

The sunlight shone lovingly on Araminta's brown hair, tightly combed
back, braided, and pinned up, but rippling riotously, none the less.
Her deep, thoughtful eyes were grey and her nose turned up
coquettishly. To a guardian of greater penetration, Araminta's mouth
would have given deep concern. It was a demure, rosy mouth, warning
and tantalising by turns. Mischievous little dimples lurked in the
corners of it, and even Aunt Hitty was not proof against the magic of
Araminta's smile. The girl's face had the creamy softness of a white
rose petal, but her cheeks bloomed with the flush of health and she
had a most disconcerting trick of blushing. With Spartan
thoroughness, Miss Mehitable constantly strove to cure Araminta of
this distressing fault, but as yet she had not succeeded.

The pretty child had grown into an exquisitely lovely woman, to her
stern guardian's secret uneasiness. "It's goin' to be harder to keep
Minty right than 't would be if she was plain," mused Miss Hitty,