"Oh, yes!" said Veronica. "You don't have to eat a whole jar of butter to find out whether it's good. All I need is a three-minute taste of anybody, and I had three hours and a half of them. Now, come on, Aunt Priscilla, let's put some transparent water in the metal bowl, and the snowy foam of soap within it." She rolled up her naughty eyes as she spoke. Miss Burridge gave the girl a rebuking look, and then laughed. "Don't you go to makin' fun of her now," she said. "She's my star boarder, no matter who else comes, I'm in love with her whether Phil is or not. She's genuine, that girl is,--genuine." "And you don't want me to be imitation," giggled Veronica. "I see." Then the two went at the clearing-up and dish-washing in high good-humor. CHAPTER III A FRIENDLY PACT "You, Veronica," said Miss Burridge one morning, looking out of the kitchen window. "I feel sorry for that young boy." "I told you you would. Old Nick should worry what his nephew does with himself all day." "Veronica!" Miss Priscilla gave the girl a warning wink and motioned with her hand toward the sink where Genevieve, her hair in a tight braid and her slender figure attired in a scanty calico frock, was looking over the bib of an apron much too large for her, and washing the breakfast dishes. "Excuse me," said Veronica demurely. "I meant to say Mr. Gayne. Genevieve, you must never call Mr. Gayne 'Old Nick.' Do you hear?" "Veronica!" pleaded Miss Burridge. "Oh, we all know Mr. Gayne," said Genevieve, in her piercing, high voice which always seemed designed to be heard through the tumult of a storm at sea. "He has been here before, then?" asked Miss Burridge. "Pretty near all last summer. He comes to paint, you know." "No, I didn't know he was an artist." "Oh, yes, he paints somethin' grand, but I never saw any of his pitchers." "Was his nephew with him last summer?" "No, I don't believe so. I never saw anybody around with him. He spent most of his time up to the Dexter farm. He said he could paint the prettiest pitchers there. It was him seen the first ghost." "What are you talking about, Genevieve?" asked Miss Burridge, while Veronica busied herself drying the glass and silver. "Oh, yes," she put in. "That is the haunted farm. Mr. Barrison was telling me about it." "Yep," said Genevieve. "Folks had said so a long time and heard awful queer noises up there, but Mr. Gayne was the first who really seen the spook." "I'm not surprised that he had a visitor," said Veronica. "Dollars to doughnuts, it had horns and hoofs and a tail." "That's what Uncle Zip said," remarked Genevieve. "He said 't wa'n't anything but an old stray white cow." Veronica laughed, and her aunt met her mischievous look with an impressive shake of the head. "Mind me, now," she said, and Veronica did not pursue the subject.