“Oh, don't mind,” he begged; “it's all right. I've never had any offer for a picture that I'd rather take than yours. I know the thing can't be altogether bad after what you've said. And I'll tell you what! I'll have it photographed when I get to Boston, and I'll send you a photograph of it.” “How much will that be?” Mrs. Durgin asked, as if taught caution by her offer for the painting. “Nothing. And if you'll accept it and hang it up here somewhere I shall be very glad.” “Thank you,” said Mrs. Durgin, and the meekness, the wounded pride, he fancied in her, touched him. He did not know at first how to break the silence which she let follow upon her words. At last he said: “You spoke, just now, about taking it with you. Of course, you don't think of leaving Lion's Head?” She did not answer for so long a time that he thought she had not perhaps heard him or heeded what he said; but she answered, finally: “We did think of it. The day you come we had about made up our minds to leave.” “Oh!” “But I've been thinkin' of something since you've been here that I don't know but you'll say is about as wild as wantin' to buy a three-hundred-dollar picture with a week's board.” She gave a short, self-scornful laugh; but it was a laugh, and it relieved the tension. “It may not be worth any more,” he said, glad of the relief. “Oh, I guess it is,” she rejoined, and then she waited for him to prompt her. “Well?” “Well, it's this; and I wanted to ask you, anyway. You think there'd be any chance of my gettin' summer folks to come here and board if I was to put an advertisement in a Boston paper? I know it's a lonesome place, and there ain't what you may call attractions. But the folks from the hotels, sometimes, when they ride over in a stage to see the view, praise up the scenery, and I guess it is sightly. I know that well enough; and I ain't afraid but what I can do for boarders as well as some, if not better. What do you think?” “I think that's a capital idea, Mrs. Durgin.” “It's that or go,” she said. “There ain't a livin' for us on the farm any more, and we got to do somethin'. If there was anything else I could do! But I've thought it out and thought it out, and I guess there ain't anything I can do but take boarders--if I can get them.” “I should think you'd find it rather pleasant on some accounts. Your boarders would be company for you,” said Westover. “We're company enough for ourselves,” said Mrs. Durgin. “I ain't ever been lonesome here, from the first minute. I guess I had company enough when I was a girl to last me the sort that hotel folks are. I presume Mr. Whitwell spoke to you about my father?” “Yes; he did, Mrs. Durgin.”