"A painter? Do you paint houses?"
"Oh! yes, and barns and even people and trees."
This seemed to interest the voice in the gloom, for they had entered the woods and it was quite dark.
"You are making fun?"
"Far from it, Mam'selle."
"I am not Mam'selle. I'm Donelle."
How childish the words and tones were!
"Excuse me, Donelle."
"And here's home!" Suddenly Molly had emerged from the trees and stood stock still in the highway in front of the little white house.
"Would you rather wait until I let Molly into the stable, or will you go in?" Standing in the road, with the moonlight touching her, Donelle looked like nothing so much as a silver birch in the shadowy woods.