“Never worry about changes,” said Mrs. Carson in her silvery voice. “It is the changes that make life interesting. Good has always come to you, Carin, and good will continue to come. Annie Laurie has already chosen what she wishes to do. We have decided what we think best for you. There remains only Azalea to care for. How is it with you, Azalea? What do you wish to do?” “I mean,” said Azalea, her heart trembling a little in spite of her efforts to be calm and philosophic, “to prepare myself to take charge of the mountain industries at Lee. Just how I can best fit myself for this work I do not know. I mustn’t desert Mother McBirney, must I? I can’t put any expense on my dear family, but I can stay at home and learn weaving of Mother McBirney and basket-making of dear old Haystack Thompson, and go to Jug Town and find out how to make pottery. I can pick up my education, don’t you see?” She sat tall, slight and very girlish-looking, by the table on which rested the reading lamp. Her vivid face, thrown into relief by the soft glow, had, to all those present, a sweet and gracious familiarity. They loved her, wanted her with them, wanted her to help them make up the sum of good things that is called “home.” There was not one person there who wanted to spare her, yet here she was with her little declaration of independence. “Come up to New York,” whispered Keefe, fascinated, “and study at the School of Design.” Azalea shook her head. “I’d like to make my own way,” she said valiantly. “It—it would make me happier than anything else. I’d rather not be sent anywhere. I’d rather cut my own path.” “So proud,” smiled Mr. Carson whimsically. “Would it hurt you to accept help from those who love you, Azalea?” “Is it pride?” asked Azalea with a bright thoughtfulness. “I’m sure I don’t think it is. I want to use my own will, Mr. Carson, to see what I can spin out of myself. If it should happen to be a wonderful silver web how pleased I would be!” “Oh, you’re so young, Azalea, dear,” mourned Miss Zillah. “Don’t go to taking too much risk. Don’t be too independent.” “No, don’t, Azalea,” pleaded Carin. “Let papa and mamma make some plan for you.” “They understand me better than you do, Carin love,” said her friend. “They know what a joy it is to make one’s own plans and carry them out. Annie Laurie knows, too, don’t you, dear?”