ch to keep me on my feet.
Elsa, from the fortress of her kitchen, screamed that Jumper had done
it.

"'Hay?' exploded the man. It seemed to me an appalling interjection.

"'Jumper didn't do it,' said Nannie. 'I fell and the paint splashed.
I'll paint it over for you, all right.'

"'_You!_' the ogre bellowed, lifting his fist in a passion. 'You've done
enough mischief!' I had been trying to speak, but I was so scared that
my mouth only made little choking sounds, but now I did sob, 'Please,
mister, we _made_ her do it, Elsa and I. Elsa caught her arm and I
caught Elsa's arm--I'll _pay_ you for it!' I had my little purse out in
my trembling fingers and would have given it all to him. Not Nannie. 'It
can't take you an hour to paint it over,' said she. 'Will you take
twenty-five cents--that's an hour's wages--and let _me_ paint it? I'm
awful sorry it happened.'

"'I've a mind to lick you both,' grumbled the man.

"But Nannie didn't flinch; she looked into his face, repeating, 'We're
awful sorry; and we'll pay you. It wouldn't do any good to spank us; and
I'll paint something else first, to show you I won't daub the glass.'

"'Well, you _are_ a cool one,' said the man. I could hardly believe my
eyes; he was grinning. Actually he did let Nannie show him how neatly
she painted; and the end of it was, he taught us a great deal about
painting."

"Didn't Nannie think you were plucky to run back?" said the Southerner.
"Truly, Mrs. Curtis, I think you were braver than she!"

Mrs. Curtis shook her head. "I couldn't have done it but for Nannie.
Merely being in her presence stiffened my limp courage. I was absurdly
timid."

"Well, I don't wonder you were fond of her," cried the youngest member.
"What were her people like?"

"Her mother was dead and she was an only child. Her father was the
kindest, gentlest of men, with a placid shrewdness such as one may draw
from life rather than books. He loved beautiful things. Why, he taught
me more about the loveliness of shadows and trees than the great
artists, since. And I recognize now how fine was his passion for what he
called in his homely way 'a job good enough not to need putty.'"

"I remember Marsh well," said Mrs. Clymer. "He _was_ a wonderful workman
and a particularly considerate person to have about. He always cleaned
up his shavings. I never saw the aunt. She was a nice sort, too, wasn't
she, Connie?"

"Indeed she was! She was a widow with three children. The younge