penter."

"Miss Lois made it."

"Ah," said William Douglas, something which made you think of a smile,
although no smile was there, passing over his face, "it looks like her
work; it will last a long time. And there will be no need to remove it
for Ash-Wednesday, Anne; there is nothing joyous about it."

"I did not notice that it was ugly," said the girl, trying in her bent
posture to look at the wreath, and bringing one eye and a portion of
anxious forehead to bear upon it.

"That is because Miss Lois made it," replied William Douglas, returning
to his music.

Anne, standing straight again, surveyed the garland in silence. Then she
changed its position once or twice, studying the effect. Her figure,
poised on the round of the ladder, high in the air, was, although
unsupported, firm. With her arms raised above her head in a position
which few women could have endured for more than a moment, she appeared
as unconcerned, and strong, and sure of her footing, as though she had
been standing on the floor. There was vigor about her and elasticity,
combined unexpectedly with the soft curves and dimples of a child.
Viewed from the floor, this was a young Diana, or a Greek maiden, as we
imagine Greek maidens to have been. The rounded arms, visible through
the close sleeves of the dark woollen dress, the finely moulded wrists
below the heavy wreath, the lithe, natural waist, all belonged to a
young goddess. But when Anne Douglas came down from her height, and
turned toward you, the idea vanished. Here was no goddess, no Greek;
only an American girl, with a skin like a peach. Anne Douglas's eyes
were violet-blue, wide open, and frank. She had not yet learned that
there was any reason why she should not look at everything with the calm
directness of childhood. Equally like a child was the unconsciousness of
her mouth, but the full lips were exquisitely curved. Her brown hair was
braided in a heavy knot at the back of her head; but little rings and
roughened curly ends stood up round her forehead and on her temples, as
though defying restraint. This unwritten face, with its direct gaze, so
far neutralized the effect of the Diana-like form that the girl missed
beauty on both sides. The usual ideal of pretty, slender, unformed
maidenhood was not realized, and yet Anne Douglas's face was more like
what is called a baby face than that of any other girl on the island.
The adjective generally applied to her was "big." This big, soft-