“But where are they coming from?” says I, huffy as could be, for I didn’t like them empty frames lyin’ in a heap on the floor. Then he brought down two or three of the things,—‘rough gems’ he called ’em,—that you had sent to him, and put them in the frames. I aint no judge perhaps,—so don’t be offended!—but, really, now, they did not make half the show that the others did; but he said, there was ‘downright genius in them,’ and I gave in about it. So, if you could come to my house,—which, of course, you can’t—them four picters are all you would see in my boudoir, instead of them he had turned out of doors. “Now, my dear, how much am I to pay you for them?” “How—how much? Oh, madam, I—I——” Then Ruth put both hands to her face, and burst into a passion of warm, sweet tears, that shook her slight frame from head to foot. “Well, now, I never did,” said Mrs. Carter, half starting from her seat. “He thought you would be delighted.” “And so I am—the happiest, happiest creature that ever lived. Oh, madam, you seem to me like an angel.” Mrs. Carter lifted her head and plumed herself like a peacock. “I’m sure I don’t pretend to anything of that sort, being just a trifle stout, and not given to flying. But if you like to think so, and it makes you happy, I wont disturb the idea, because it reminds me of things Carter used to say years and years ago, when we first went to housekeeping in two rooms, with a closet in the cellar for wood and coal. Then—then——” All at once, even to her own astonishment, the woman broke down, her eyes filled with tears, and her bosom heaved with sobs. Impatient with herself, she snatched a handkerchief from her pocket, and swept its rich lace across the redness of her eyes, and gave out a gurgling, hysterical laugh. “I wonder what’s come over me,” she said, at last, shaking out her moist handkerchief. “There is no telling about me. Carter says I always was a sensitive cretur. Well, Miss Laurence, we were speaking about them pictures. How much now? Ross thought that twenty-five dollars apiece would be little enough.” “Twenty-five dollars!” exclaimed Ruth, and her large eyes widened like those of an astonished child. “Oh, madam you cannot mean it!” “What! you don’t think it enough? Well, say thirty; though I have seen pictures twice their size sell for less. Will thirty satisfy you?” “Oh, madam, I know you are too kind for that but it seems as if you were mocking me. The amount you mentioned first, is so much that I can scarcely believe it.” The poor girl really could not comprehend her good fortune; she trembled all over. Her great eyes were bent on Mrs. Carter with pleading entreaty, that this cruel, cruel trifling might cease. Mrs. Carter could not understand all this, but had a vague idea that the price she offered was satisfactory.