How desirable Donelle was when, casting her violin aside, she flung herself in a chair by the hearth and said:
"Come, put the paints away and wipe the brushes carefully. Come tell me a story and then, dear man, I'll stir you some maple and put in a lot of nuts. Oh! but I will make it good."
Norval, at such commands, felt his strength departing.
"There's one story I'd like to tell you, little woman," he once flung back to her desperately.
"And that is what?"
"A story of a man and woman."
"Go on, go on," Donelle urged. "That will be the best of all."
"You bet it will!" Then Norval tossed his brushes aside.
"I'm coming over to take you in my arms and kiss you, sweet!" he warned, but did not move.
"Well, why don't you? And then we can tell Mamsey."