“Do you know, Miss Merriman,” he said whimsically but at the same time rather wistfully, “at this moment it seems to me that to be supremely good-natured and somewhat droll is a triumph in itself.” He smiled and sighed. “Nevertheless, life in the two villages will seem different without Rusty,” he owned. “It will be quieter, but doubtless far less exciting.” He went into the church to fetch a book, then overtook Miss Garland and walked with her as far as the post office. And as they went, he asked her why she thought of Miss Penny as old; and they occupied the time recollecting dates and computing the passing of the years. And both felt older at parting, and one of them strangely depressed. Just as Miss Penny had long realised that people called her an old lady so Anna Miller was quite aware that she was known as the ‘other Miller girl.’ But the younger resented the fact as little as the older. Anna adored her sister, looked up to her in many ways, and never dreamed of disputing or questioning her title as virtual head of the family. The girl knew, too, that she was pretty and in doll-fashion, though she didn’t herself consider doll-fashion bad. If the question had come up, she would have acknowledged promptly, too, that she was good-humored, and she couldn’t help realising that people thought her droll. Nevertheless, vain as she undoubtedly was, Anna Miller did not attach undue weight to any of these qualities, and otherwise would have been likely to rate her own powers lower than anyone else would have done. Enjoying life thoroughly, and perhaps more consciously than is usual at her years, she was quite content to be the ‘other Miller girl’ and to endeavor to stop any portion she might of the gap left in hearts and households by Rusty’s absence. But the girl was herself quite unconscious and others quite unaware of her most valuable characteristic. Young as she was, Anna Miller had one quality seldom gained before middle age, and rare even then,--a truly humourous outlook upon the world. The girl viewed life and her fellow human beings almost in the detached manner of a philosopher, yet warmly and sympathetically withal. She enjoyed oddities and idiosyncrasies which annoyed or vexed others and made allowance for larger faults with a singularly mature tolerance. She was one of the few who habitually demand less than they are willing to proffer,--simply and naturally and quite without any sense of superiority.