Gladly Randy picked up the little book. The drawings were not wonderful, only rather clever, but to the country girl, who had never seen a sketch, they were truly charming. Randy looked at each little picture at least a dozen times, always telling Prue in a whisper that she must not put her little fingers on them.
“However did you do them?” asked Randy. “I didn’t know that anybody ever did such beautiful things.”
“Thank you for liking them,” said Helen; “but you must not call them beautiful.”
“But,” said Randy, “that old mullein stalk looks just like a mullein, and those birches look just ’s if you could strip the bark off.”
Helen laughed at Randy’s enthusiasm. “Sometime, when I come,” said she, “I will make a sketch of your old well.”
“Our well!” said Randy, “would that look pretty in a picture?” Helen was amused. “You shall see,” said she; “and now tell me who arranged the flowers and vines so prettily?”
“I did,” said Randy; “I did it to please you,” and Randy, the sketch book still in her hand, looked up into the lovely face.
Helen Dayton laid a gentle hand on Randy’s shoulder, saying sweetly, “Thank you so much, but tell me why you so wished to please me?”
“Because you are the very loveliest girl I ever saw in this world,” and then Randy blushed and looked down to cover her confusion.
“And because you are the princess,” chimed in Prue, who had been still an unusually long time.