It made her custodian of the courthouse, entrusted with the charge of
seeing that it was kept clean, ventilated, water-besprinkled; that when
assizes came on, the judges' rooms were fittingly adorned and that
bouquets of flowers were placed every morning on the bench on which they
sat. This place Miss Blanchet had held for many years. The rising
generation had forgotten all about her poetry, and indeed, as she seldom
went out of her own little domain, had for the most part forgotten her
existence.

When Minola Grey was a little girl her mother was one of Miss Mary
Blanchet's chiefest patronesses. It was in great measure by the
influence of Minola's father that Miss Blanchet obtained her place in
the courthouse. Little Minola thought her a great poetess and a
remarkably beautiful woman, and accepted somehow the impression that she
had a romantic and mysterious love history. It was a rare delight for
her to be taken to spend an evening with Miss Blanchet, to drink tea in
her pretty and well kept little room, to walk with her through the stone
passages of the courthouse, and hear her repeat her poems. As Minola
grew she outgrew the poems, but the affection survived; and after her
mother's death she found no congenial or sympathetic friend anywhere in
Keeton but Mary Blanchet. The relationship between the two curiously
changed. The tall girl of twenty became the leader, the heroine, the
queen; and Mary Blanchet, sensible little woman enough in many ways,
would have turned African explorer or joined in a rebellion of women
against men if Miss Grey had given her the word of command.

"I know your mind is made up, dear, now that you have come," Miss
Blanchet said when the first rapture of greeting was over.

Minola took off her hat and threw it on the little sofa with the air of
one who feels thoroughly at home. It may be remarked as characteristic
of this young woman that in going toward the sofa she had to pass the
chimney-piece with its mirror, and that she did not even cast a glance
at her own image in the glass.

"Mary," she asked gravely, "am I a man and a brother, that you expect me
to change my mind? You are not repenting, I hope?"

"Oh, no, my dear. I have all the advantages, you know. I am so tired of
this place and the work--dear me!"

"And I hate to see you at such work. You might almost as well be a
servant. Years ago I made up my mind to take you out of this wretched
place as soon as I should be of age and