"It is," Burt informed her. "Aunt Susan is an artist--with her needle. She gives, or gave, dressmaking lessons, in her idle moments. She gave up dressmaking, when she bought this house and settled here, but now she teaches the daughters of her old customers, they come out in automobiles every Wednesday, in winter. Saturday afternoons she has some of the young girls in the village, here,--without price--and without taste, too, some of them! And Nan, I hate to mention it, but--Aunt Susan is a pretty good cook, too!" "Feed the brute!" quoted Nan, with a gay laugh. "Will the Admiral drink condensed milk?" Mrs. Brown came over with her blueberry pie as Burt was summoned to luncheon. She surveyed the table, which Nan had laid in the kitchen, and then the Admiral, who was making his toilette in a thorough manner that suggested several courses, with outspoken approval. "My, I wish Susan Winchester could pop in this minute. You found the prepared flour, and all--baked 'em on the griddle! Wa'n't that cute! I never did see an omelet like that except from Susan Winchester's own hands, and she learned from a Frenchwoman she used to sew with. Some folks can pick up every useful trick they see." Turning to Burt, she continued: "With all the new fangle-dangles of these days, women voting and all, you're a lucky boy to have found an old-fashioned girl!" "I know it," said Burt, brazenly, but he did not meet Anne's astonished eyes. "My girl has learned the best of the new accomplishments, without losing what was worth keeping of the old." Anne's judgment told her it was a good luncheon--no better than she served herself at home, though. She stared at her own slim, capable fingers. Was she domestic, after all? "We've been looking at apartments in the city," Burt went on--"apartments in a hotel, you know.--Try the omelet, Mrs. Brown--Nan's don't fall flat as soon as other omelets do.--But we haven't found what really appeals to us." "I should think not," declared Mrs. Brown, vigorously. "I always say a person hasn't a spark of originality that will go and live in a coop just like hundreds of others, all cut to the same pattern. Look at your Aunt Susan, now. This house belonged to old Joe Potter, he built it less'n ten years ago an Mis' Potter she had it the way she wanted it, and that was like the house she lived in when she was a girl, little, tucked-up rooms, air-tight stoves, a tidy on every chair, and she made portieres out of paper beads that tickled 'em both silly--yes, and tickled everybody in the ear that went through 'em, though that wan't what I meant to say. When she died, Joe wouldn't live here, said he wouldn't be so homesick for Julia in another house, this one was full of her. So, your Aunt Susan bought it, and what did she do?