Amarilly left the studio to resume her cleaning. At five o'clock she came back. Derry stood at the window, working furiously at some fleecy clouds sailing over a cerulean sky. She was about to speak, but discerning that he must work speedily and uninterruptedly to keep pace with the shifting clouds, she refrained.
"There!" he said. "I got it. You were a good little girl not to interrupt me, Amarilly."
"It's beautiful!" gasped Amarilly. "I was afeard you'd git the sky blue instead of purplish and that you'd make the clouds too white."
"Amarilly, you've the soul of an artist! In you I have found a true critic."
"Come and see if the rooms is all right. I got 'em real clean. Every nook and corner. And—"
"I know you did, Amarilly, without looking. I can smell the clean from here."
"If thar's nothin' more you want did, I'll go hum."
"Here's a dollar for the rooms and two dollars for the surplice. Amarilly, you were glad to learn table manners from Miss King, weren't you?"
"Yes; I like to larn all I kin."
"Then, will you let me teach you something?"