“‘You know,’ he said, ’I must send something so very good to begin with, that they can’t help seeing at first sight how good it is.’

“‘But not so good that you can’t ever make another equal to it,’ suggested I out of my practical but inartistic brain.

“‘No danger of that, Dot,’ said Nat, confidently.  ’Dot, there isn’t anything in this world I can’t make a picture of, if I can have paper enough, and pencils and paint.’

“At last he finished three designs which he was willing to send.  They were all for spring or summer dresses.  One was a curious block pattern, the blocks of irregular shapes, but all fitting into each other, and all to be of the gayest colors.  Here and there came a white block with one tiny scarlet dot upon it; ‘That’s for a black-haired girl, Dot,’ said Nat; ‘you couldn’t wear it.’

“The second was a group of ferns tied by a little wreath of pansies; nothing could be more beautiful.  The third was a fantastic mixture of pine-tassels and acorns.  I thought it quite ugly, but Nat insisted on it that it would be pretty for a summer muslin; and so it was the next year, when it was worn by everybody, the little plumy pine-tassels of a bright green (which didn’t wash at all), and the acorns all tumbling about on your lap, all sides up at once.

“It was one o’clock before we went to bed, and we might as well have sat up all night, for we did not sleep.  The next morning I got up before light and walked into town, to a shop where they sold paints.  I had just time to buy a box of water-colors and get back to the mill before the bell stopped ringing.  All the forenoon the little white parcel lay on the floor at my feet.  As often as I looked at it, I seemed to see Nat’s pictures dancing on the surface.  I had given five dollars for the box; I trembled to think what a sum that was for us to spend on an uncertainty; but I had small doubt.  At noon I ran home; I ate little dinner—­Nat would not touch a mouthful.  ‘You must see the pansies and ferns done before you go,’ he said.

“And before my hour was up they were so nearly done that I danced around Nat’s chair with delight.

“‘I know Mr. Wilkins never saw anything so pretty in his life,’ said Nat, calmly.

“The thought of Mr. Wilkins was a terrible damper to me.  Nat had not seen him:  I had.

“‘Nat,’ said I, slowly, ’Mr. Wilkins won’t know that it is pretty.  He is not a man; he is a frog, and he looks as if he lied.  I believe he will cheat us.’

“Nat looked shocked.  ’Why Dora, I never in my life heard you speak so.  You shall not take them to him.  I will have Patrick take me there.’

“‘No, no, dear,’ I exclaimed, ’I would not have you see Mr. Wilkins for the world.  He is horrible.  But I am not afraid of him.’

“I meant that I would not for the world have him see Nat.  He was coarse and brutal enough to be insulting to a helpless cripple, and I knew it.  But Nat did not dream of my reason for insisting so strongly on going myself, and he finally yielded.