“No,” Eva replied. “I have not had any chance.”
“I believe that you might have talent,” the artist said pleasantly. “I am Madge Peterson, from the city. My young brother and I are spending a fortnight at Little Bear Lake, and if you two dryads will go down to the inn with me, I’ll get my things and we’ll go sketching. How would you like that?”
“We’d love it!” Adele exclaimed, glad to have pleasant things happening, for she did so want this to be the happiest weekend of Eva’s whole life.
Soon the easel and paints were packed and Madge Peterson, who was little more than a girl herself, having just had her eighteenth birthday, beamed on her two new friends as she said, “Come now, little dryads; we will start on our downward way.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Adele, “I forgot something!”
“What?” asked Madge, looking up brightly.
“My manners,” Adele laughingly replied. “Miss Peterson, I never thought to tell you what our names are.”
“Why, yes you did,” Madge replied gayly. “You are Dryad Oakleaf and your friend is Dryad Fern.”
“Oh, but we change back to girls when we leave the oak-trees,” Adele said, as she began to braid her wavy brown hair, while Eva did the same to her golden locks.
“It’s a pity,” said Madge, who thought that she had never before met two lovelier girls.