It appeared, too, that Tibby’s nature was as contradictory. Wayward and wilful as she was at times, at others she appeared of angelic sweetness, and the soft, innocent depths of those slumberous blue eyes captivated the hearts of all who met her, and made them swear no evil could exist in her. And now while Tibby, like her feline namesake, purrs most delusively in the midst of her aesthetic surroundings, and her pink-tinted fingers effectually conceal any hidden claws, her mind reviews a scene but three weeks behind the present. She sees an old-fashioned, wood-colored farm-house with broad lawn, in which are bright beds of dear old-fashioned flowers, marigolds and petunias, bachelor buttons and scarlet poppies; and she sees herself in calico gown and big sunbonnet standing under the old elm, in listening attitude, while a shrill, chirruping note sounds in her ear. “Hello, Tib, what’s up?” shouts a boyish voice, and a stout-limbed, bare-footed lad bounds down the path toward her. “Hush!” she says. “Ah, you have frightened it away! It was singing in the old elm and I hoped to find it. It’s a tree-toad, isn’t it? Did you ever see one, Tom?” “Hundreds of ’em,” replies the boy contemptuously. “What do they look like, Tom? Are they green?” “They’re mostly the color of the thing they’re on, I reckon,” says the oracle. “Sometimes they’re like the bark of the trees or fence, and then again they’re sort of green if they’re on the grass.” “Humph! You don’t expect me to believe such a fish story as that, do you?” replies Tibby scornfully, drawing up her straight, slim figure with dignity. “As if any mortal thing could change its color! As well might the leopard change his spots,” she continues as her mind reverts to the Scripture lesson of the preceding Sabbath. “That’s all you know about it! They’re thicker ’n spatter down in the lane, an’ I guess I know what I’m telling you! Why, Tibby, they’re like your eyes. A minute ago they were blue, now they’re yeller. Mother says your eyes make her fidgety, they’re so changeable.” And Tom laughed gleefully. “Did she, Tom; when?” “Yisterday. I heard her tell pop. And say, Tibby, if you don’t go down cellar and do that churnin’, she’ll make it hot for you. She says you allus slip off on churnin’ days.” “It’s already done, Mr. Tom. I did it before I came out here. But mother’ll think I haven’t, and won’t she have a conniption fit?” Again the twain laugh. “Say, Tom, wouldn’t you like to go away somewheres, where folks are different—into the city, or somewhere? It’s deadly dull here, an’ then mother’s so cross—” “I dunno, pop’s all right if _she_ didn’t put him up to pitch into us.” Tom gives his trousers a jerk, and digs his bare toes into the grass. “An’ she tells him you’re wilful and headstrong as fury.” Tibby tosses her red-brown curls and purses up her small mouth expressively, then she remembers her quest.