d there when I was making the drawing. It is nothing but two or
three little dabs, but that is the way she looked at a distance.
Around on this side is the corner of the yard where the bear tried to
eat up the tire of your bicycle."

I gazed and gazed at the little light-colored spot in the portico. I
gave it form, light, feeling. I could see perfect features, blue
eyes which looked out at me, a form of simple grace.

[Illustration: "'I HELD THAT PICTURE A GOOD WHILE'"]

I held that picture a good while, saying little, and scarcely
listening to Miss Willoughby's words. At last I felt obliged to
replace it in the portfolio. If the artist had been a poor girl, I
would have offered to buy it; if I had known her better, I would have
asked her to give it to me; but I could do nothing but put it back.

Glancing at the clock I saw that it was time for me to go, but when I
announced this fact the ladies very much demurred. Why should I go to
that uncomfortable hotel? They would send for my baggage. There was
not the least reason in the world why I should spend the night in that
second-rate establishment.

"See," said Mrs. Willoughby, opening the door of a room in the rear of
the parlor, "if you will stay with us to-night we will lodge you in
the chamber of the favored guest. All the pictures on the walls were
done by my daughter."

I looked into the room. It was the most charming and luxurious bedroom
I had ever seen. It was lighted, and the harmony of its furnishings
was a treat to the eye.

But I stood firm in my purpose to depart. I would not spend the night
in that house. There would be a fire, burglars, I knew not what!
Against all kind entreaties I urged the absolute necessity of my
starting away by the very break of day, and I could not disturb a
private family by any such proceeding. They saw that I was determined
to go, and they allowed me to depart.

CHAPTER XVI

AN ICICLE

My room at the hotel was as dreary as a stubble-field upon a November
evening. The whole house was new, varnished, and hard. My bedroom was
small. A piece of new ingrain carpet covered part of the hard
varnished floor. Four hard walls and a ceiling, deadly white,
surrounded me. The hard varnished bedstead (the mattress felt as if it
were varnished) nearly filled the little room. Two stiff chairs, and a
yellow window-shade which looked as if it were made of varnished wood,
glittered in the feeble light of a glass lamp, while the