“Would you call my hair very red?” asked Ellen anxiously.
“You don’t suppose it will be reported that it is black or gray, do you?”
“Daddy loved it, so did all the artists. They used to say it was real Titian color.”
“That may be, but I don’t reckon there are many of our neighbors who know anything about Titian, so you’ll have to get used to being called red-headed. Just keep your hair brushed and tidy-looking; that’s all you’ll have to do. It doesn’t matter about looks. I want you to be sensible and useful, Ellen.”
“Useful Ellen; that’s what Daddy used to call me sometimes when I brought him a piece of toast I had made, or a cup of tea,” said Ellen dreamily.
“Well, I hope you will carry on and always deserve the name.”
“Who are the next-door neighbors?” asked Ellen, changing the subject. “I saw an odd-looking little man who seemed a bit lame.”
“That was Jeremy Todd. He is a musician, plays the ’cello and gives lessons, besides being the organist at our church.”
“Oh, does he? How lovely! Mr. Barstow bought the dear old violin that Daddy played. I was beginning to play a little, too, but——” Ellen paused and drew a long sigh. “Are the dyes all right, Cousin Rindy?”
“Yes, quite right. We’ll start in to-morrow and get your things done.”