“That may be, but I don’t reckon there are many of our neighbors who know anything about Titian, so you’ll have to get used to being called red-headed. Just keep your hair brushed and tidy-looking; that’s all you’ll have to do. It doesn’t matter about looks. I want you to be sensible and useful, Ellen.” “Useful Ellen; that’s what Daddy used to call me sometimes when I brought him a piece of toast I had made, or a cup of tea,” said Ellen dreamily. “Well, I hope you will carry on and always deserve the name.” “Who are the next-door neighbors?” asked Ellen, changing the subject. “I saw an odd-looking little man who seemed a bit lame.” “That was Jeremy Todd. He is a musician, plays the ’cello and gives lessons, besides being the organist at our church.” “Oh, does he? How lovely! Mr. Barstow bought the dear old violin that Daddy played. I was beginning to play a little, too, but——” Ellen paused and drew a long sigh. “Are the dyes all right, Cousin Rindy?” “Yes, quite right. We’ll start in to-morrow and get your things done.” “Who lives on the other side of us, Cousin Rindy?” “The Dove-Hales. The Craig-Hales live the other side of town.” “I saw a darling little boy in there.” “Billy? Yes, he is a dear. We all call him Dovey. Now put away your hat and coat and help me pare these apples. We’re going to have a Brown Betty for dinner.” As Ellen turned to hang up her hat and coat she stopped to ask, “Is that woman always in the store?” “Not always; she’s generally in the post-office,” Miss Rindy smiled, “and she won’t like it if you interrupt her when she’s getting dinner or about to sit down to supper.” “But the post-office, isn’t it always expected that there will be some one there to wait on you?” “It isn’t what you expect, it is what Maria thinks about it. Her affairs are much more important than the government’s. A batch of biscuits that might burn is more to be considered than all the letters you or I might write. But don’t let’s find fault with Maria; she has about all she can do to run her house, the post-office, and, often, the store. Mil Perry is a lazy lout and piles all he can upon her thin shoulders. It must be trying to have your biscuits burn up just because some one wants a penny post-card. Get your apron, Ellen, before you sit down.” CHAPTER III VIOLINS AND DOVES Within the next two or three days Ellen made at least two or three friends. It was from over the fence on one side that Jeremy Todd first spoke to her, and over the fence on the other side that she made the acquaintance of Billy Dove-Hale. She was gathering the last of the tomatoes which grew near the side toward the Todds; Miss Rindy had said they must be in before the frost nipped them. Ellen was singing softly a little song of Schumann’s, which had been a favorite of her mother’s, when suddenly a head appeared over the fence. “Who is that singing ‘Moonlight’?” said a man’s voice.