"Does anybody except you two babes in the wood?" "Yes, her mother." "And yours? You told her last night. I knew you would." "Not everything; but she is all upset." "Of course she is. So am I. Now tell me--is she a LADY?" "She is the dearest, sweetest girl you--" "Come now, come now, answer me. They are all the dearest and sweetest things in the world. What I want to know is, is she a lady?" "Yes." "True now, Ollie--honest?" "Yes, in every sense of the word. A woman you would love and be proud of the moment you saw her." Miss Clendenning took his face in her hands and looked down into his eyes. "I believe you. Now what do you want me to do?" "I want her to come down here so everybody can see her. If I had a sister she could invite her, and it would be all right, and maybe then her mother would let her come." "And you want me to play the sister and have her come here?" Oliver's fingers closed tight over Miss Clendenning's hand. "Oh, Midget, if you only would, that would fix everything. Mother would understand then why I love her, and Madge could go back and tell her people about us. Her father is very bitter against everybody at the South. They would feel differently if Madge could stay a week with us." "Why won't her father bring her?" "He never leaves home. He would not even take her to the mountains, fifteen miles away. She could never paint as she does if she had relied upon him. Mother and Mr. Grant are both alike in their hatred of art as a fitting profession for anybody, and I tell you that they are both wrong." Miss Clendenning looked up in surprise. She had never seen the boy take a stand of this kind against one of his mother's opinions. Oliver saw the expression on the little lady's face and kept on, his cheeks flushed and a set look about his eyes. "Yes, wrong. I have never believed mother could be wrong in anything before, and when she wanted me to give up painting I did so because I thought she knew best. But I know she's not right about Madge, and if she is wrong about her, how do I know she was not wrong about my working with Mr. Crocker?" Margaret's words that day in the bark slant were now ringing in his ears. He had never forgotten them--"Your mother cannot coddle you up forever." Miss Clendenning held her peace. She was not astonished at the revolt in the boy's mind. She had seen for months past in his letters that Oliver's individuality was asserting itself. It was the new girl whom he was defending--the woman he loved. This had given him strength. She knew something of what he felt, and she knew what blind obedience had done for her. With a half-smothered sigh, she reached over Oliver's head, dipped a quill pen in her inkstand, and at Oliver's dictation, wrote Margaret's address. "I will invite her at once," she said.