"Mary Belle? I left her down in the orchard gathering apples," Miss Prue was saying cheerfully. "You might look for her there." And she smiled--the gracious smile of the victor for the vanquished. Incredulously the youth stared; then, emboldened, he plunged on recklessly: "I say, you know, Miss Prue, that little horse of yours can run!" Miss Prue stiffened. With a jerk she straightened her bonnet and thrust her glasses on her nose. "Ann has been bad--very bad," she said severely. "We'll not talk of it, if you please. I am ashamed of her!" And he turned haughtily away. And yet-- In the barn two minutes later, Miss Prue patted Jupiter Ann on the neck--a thing she had never done before. "We beat 'em, anyhow, Ann," she whispered. "And, after all, he's a pleasant-spoken chap, and if Mary Belle wants him--why--let's let her have him!" The Axminster Path "There, dear, here we are, all dressed for the day!" said the girl gayly, as she led the frail little woman along the strip of Axminster carpet that led to the big chair. "And Kathie?" asked the woman, turning her head with the groping uncertainty of the blind. "Here, mother," answered a cheery voice. "I'm right here by the window." "Oh!" And the woman smiled happily. "Painting, I suppose, as usual." "Oh, I'm working, as usual," returned the same cheery voice, its owner changing the position of the garment in her lap and reaching for a spool of silk. "There!" breathed the blind woman, as she sank into the great chair. "Now I am all ready for my breakfast. Tell cook, please, Margaret, that I will have tea this morning, and just a roll besides my orange." And she smoothed the folds of her black silk gown and picked daintily at the lace in her sleeves. "Very well, dearie," returned her daughter. "You shall have it right away," she added over her shoulder as she left the room. In the tiny kitchen beyond the sitting-room Margaret Whitmore lighted the gas-stove and set the water on to boil. Then she arranged a small tray with a bit of worn damask and the only cup and saucer of delicate china that the shelves contained. Some minutes later she went back to her mother, tray in hand. "'Most starved to death?" she demanded merrily, as she set the tray upon the table Katherine had made ready before the blind woman. "You have your roll, your tea, your orange, as you ordered, dear, and just a bit of currant jelly besides." "Currant jelly? Well, I don't know,--perhaps it will taste good. 'T was so like Nora to send it up; she's always trying to tempt my appetite, you know. Dear me, girls, I wonder if you realize what a treasure we have in that cook!" "Yes, dear, I know," murmured Margaret hastily. "And now the tea, Mother--it's getting colder every minute. Will you have the orange first?" The slender hands of the blind woman hovered for a moment over the table, then dropped slowly and found by touch the position of spoons, plates, and the cup of tea.