About six o'clock in the afternoon, Mildred Brown went down through the fields to the lower pasture. She wore a gingham apron which covered her from neck to high-topped boots. She carried in one hand an easel and stool and in the other hand a box of colors. Mildred came each day to a particular spot in this lower pasture and set up her easel and stool in the shade of a black willow bush to paint a particular scene. She did her work as nearly as possible at the same time each afternoon to get the same effect of light and shade and the same stretch of reflected sunlight on the open water spaces in the marshland. And the scene before her was worthy of a master hand, which, of course, Mildred Brown was not as yet. From her position in the shade of the willow, she looked out over the flat marshlands toward the west. Nearby, at the edge of the firmer pasture lands, the rushes grew luxuriously, now crowned with large, glossy-brown "cat-tails." The flats to the left were spotted by beds of white and black saleratus and bunches of course salt grass. Openings of sluggish water lay hot in the sun, winding in and out among reeds, and at this hour every clear afternoon, shining with the undimmed reflection of the burning sun. The air was laden with salty odors of the marshes. A light afternoon haze hung over the distance. Frogs were lazily croaking, and the killdeer's shrill cry came plaintively to the ear. A number of cows stood knee-deep in mud and water, round as barrels, and breathing hard, with tails unceasingly switching away the flies. Dorian was in the field turning the water on his lucerne patch when he saw Mildred coming as usual down the path. He had not expected her that afternoon as he thought the picture which she had been working on was finished; but after adjusting the flow of water, he joined her, relieving her of stool and easel. They then walked on together, the big farm boy in overalls and the tall graceful girl in the enveloping gingham. Mildred's visit had now extended to ten days, by which time Dorian had about gotten over his timidity in her presence. In fact, that had not been difficult. The girl was not a bit "stuck up," and she entered easily and naturally into the home life on the farm. She had changed considerably since Dorian had last seen her, some two years ago. Her face was still pale, although it seemed that a little pink was now creeping into her cheeks; her eyes were still big and round and blue; her hair was now done up in thick shining braids. She talked freely to Dorian and his mother, and at last Dorian had to some extent been able to find his tongue in the presence of a girl nearly his own age. The two stopped in the shade of the willow. He set up the easel and opened the stool, while she got out her colors and brushes. "Thank you," she said to him. "Did you get through with your work in the field?" "I was just turning the water on the lucerne. I got through shocking the wheat some time ago."