"Tut, tut, tut!" interrupted Alma laughingly. "Just as if the cook didn't like her handiwork praised! Why, when I draw a picture--oh, and I haven't told you!" she broke off excitedly. The next instant she was on her feet. "Alma Mead Kelsey, Illustrator; at your service," she announced with a low bow. Then she dropped into her seat again and went on speaking. "You see, I've been doing this sort of thing for some time," she explained, "and have had some success in selling. My teacher has always encouraged me, and, acting on his advice, I stayed over in New York a week with a friend, and took some of my work to the big publishing houses. That's why I didn't get here as soon as Kate Hopkins did. I hated to put off my coming; but now I'm so glad I did. Only think! I sold every single thing, and I have orders and orders ahead." "Well, by sugar!" ejaculated the man at the head of the table. "Oh-h-h!" breathed the little woman opposite. "Oh, Alma, I'm so glad!" In spite of Mrs. Kelsey's protests that night after supper, Alma tripped about the kitchen and pantry wiping the dishes and putting them away. At dusk father, mother, and daughter seated themselves on the back porch. "There!" sighed Alma. "Isn't this restful? And isn't that moon glorious?" Mrs. Kelsey shot a quick look at her husband; then she cleared her throat nervously. "Er--yes," she assented. "I--I s'pose you know what it's made of, an' how big 'tis, an'--an' what there is on it, don't ye, Alma?" Alma raised her eyebrows. "Hm-m; well, there are still a few points that I and the astronomers haven't quite settled," she returned, with a whimsical smile. "An' the stars, they've got names, I s'pose--every one of 'em," proceeded Mrs. Kelsey, so intent on her own part that Alma's reply passed unnoticed. Alma laughed; then she assumed an attitude of mock rapture, and quoted: "'Scintillate, scintillate, globule vivific, Fain would I fathom thy nature specific; Loftily poised in ether capacious, Strongly resembling the gem carbonaceous.'" There was a long silence. Alma's eyes were on the flying clouds. "Would--would you mind saying that again, Alma?" asked Mrs. Kelsey at last timidly. Alma turned with a start. "Saying what, dearie?--oh, that nonsensical verse? Of course not! That's only another way of saying 'twinkle, twinkle, little star.' Means just the same, only uses up a few more letters to make the words. Listen." And she repeated the two, line for line. "Oh!" said her mother faintly. "Er--thank you." "I--I guess I'll go to bed," announced Nathan Kelsey suddenly. The next morning Alma's pleadings were in vain. Mrs. Kelsey insisted that Alma should go about her sketching, leaving the housework for her own hands to perform. With a laughing protest and a playful pout, Alma tucked her sketchbook under her arm and left the house to go down by the river. In the field she came upon her father.