“Oh!” Eva cried, as she stretched her arms out toward the glistening fields which lay below them. “I almost wish that I was a dryad and that I could live forever in the wonderful green out-of-doors.”
“Let’s play that we are dryads,” suggested Adele, who had not outgrown her delight in making-believe.
“Very well,” Eva gayly replied, as she began to unbraid her thick golden hair. “We’ll weave garlands of oak leaves and then we’ll dance on the hill-top.”
“Oh, Eva!” Adele cried admiringly. “You have the prettiest hair that I ever saw. You are like a fairytale princess, whose golden tresses hung like a mantle over her shoulders.”
“I’m glad,” Eva said simply. “I want to look nice to you. Now shake down your locks, my nut-brown maid, and I’ll crown you with these oak leaves.”
“We ought to have different names,” Adele declared. “You be Dryad Fern and I’ll be Dryad Oakleaf.” Then, taking Eva by the hand, she called merrily, “Come, Dryad Fern, let’s sing and dance, where the wild birds wing and the sunbeams glance.”
Away they went, skipping and singing, as graceful and lovely as two dryads could be. On the hill-top, just for the joy of it, Eva whirled about alone, and Adele, breaking a hollow reed, pretended to play upon it, when suddenly a strange voice called, “Lovely! Lovely! How lucky I am to meet two dryads!”
The girls turned and beheld a young woman who was seated in front of an easel. “Good morning, little dryads,” she said, with a pleasant smile. “You see I am painting that oak-tree on the hill-top. I was wishing for a dryad to appear, and lo, there you were! Now, here you go upon the canvas!”
“Oh, how beautiful!” Eva exclaimed, as she looked at the picture of the hill-top and the gnarled oak and the wide, sunny skies. “If I could paint like that I should be so happy.”
The artist looked at the girl with a bright smile. “Perhaps you could if you tried,” she said. “Have you done any sketching?”