“Silk, cotton, wool, or mixed goods?” “Why, all kinds, I think.” “Then I’d better give you a package for each, and if she doesn’t need all, she can return what she doesn’t use. Kin of hers?” “I’m her cousin.” “Making her a visit?” “Why, ye-es. I’m going to live with her.” “You are? I did hear somebody say last night that a power of Rindy’s kinfolks came down yesterday. You don’t mean—— But never mind, I won’t ask any more questions. Rindy can tell me all about it. What did you say your name was?” Ellen hadn’t said, but she gave the desired information. “You don’t favor the Crumps,” continued Mrs. Perry; “none of them have red hair.” “I’m like my father,” replied Ellen, tossing back her shining, copper-colored locks. “He was a painter by trade, wasn’t he?” “An artist.” “Same thing. Did he do signs or houses?” “Neither. He painted beautiful pictures.” “Not much money in that, I reckon. He’d better have stuck to the houses. Painters get good wages these days. Well, Ellen, come again. I suppose you’ll be running down for the mail every evening. It’ll be nice for Rindy to have somebody to go on her errands.” Ellen picked up her package and stalked out, her face aflame and rage in her heart. The red and yellow leaves made no appeal to her. She saw no gay chrysanthemums on her way back. She shut the door savagely as she entered the house, threw the package on the table, and tossed her hat on a chair. Then she walked out to the kitchen where Miss Rindy was. “Well,” said her cousin, “did you get it?” “Yes, Cousin Rindy, I did,” Ellen responded. “That horrid woman said you’d probably want all the kinds there are. If you didn’t need them all, you could return whichever package you didn’t want. She is the most inquisitive person I ever saw, and I just loathe her.” “Whewee! What a pepper-jig you’re in. When you’ve known Maria Perry as long as I have you’ll find it isn’t worth while to get mad with her. She can ask questions, I’ll admit, but she doesn’t mean any harm by it. She’s the chief purveyor of news in the town, and everybody looks to her for it, just as if she were a headline on a newspaper.” “She asked me if my father painted houses or signs. The idea of such a thing! When I told her he painted pictures, she impertinently said she reckoned there wasn’t much money in it.” “There wasn’t was there?” “Sometimes there was a great deal.” “But it wasn’t what one might call a satisfying, steady income. Never you mind, Ellen, don’t look so much like a thundercloud. Go cool off, child. You’ll have to get used to being talked over; it’s the prerogative of the dwellers in a small place like this. A full description of you will be broadcast all over the town before night.” “Would you call my hair very red?” asked Ellen anxiously. “You don’t suppose it will be reported that it is black or gray, do you?” “Daddy loved it, so did all the artists. They used to say it was real Titian color.”