Away went thimble and scissors, and in five minutes away went Merry, skipping down the hill without a care in the world, for a happy heart sat singing within, and everything seemed full of beauty.
She had a capital time with Molly, called on Jill, did her shopping in the village, and had just turned to walk up the hill, when Ralph Evans came tramping along behind her, looking so pleased and proud about something that she could not help asking what it was, for they were great friends, and Merry thought that to be an artist was the most glorious career a man could choose.
“I know you've got some good news,” she said, looking up at him as he touched his hat and fell into step with her, seeming more contented than before.
“I have, and was just coming up to tell you, for I was sure you would be glad. It is only a hope, a chance, but it is so splendid I feel as if I must shout and dance, or fly over a fence or two, to let off steam.”
“Do tell me, quick; have you got an order?” asked Merry, full of interest at once, for artistic vicissitudes were very romantic, and she liked to hear about them.
“I may go abroad in the autumn.”
“Oh, how lovely!”
“Isn't it? David German is going to spend a year in Rome, to finish a statue, and wants me to go along. Grandma is willing, as cousin Maria wants her for a long visit, so everything looks promising and I really think I may go.”
“Won't it cost a great deal?” asked Merry, who, in spite of her little elegancies, had a good deal of her thrifty mother's common sense.
“Yes; and I've got to earn it. But I can—I know I can, for I've saved some, and I shall work like ten beavers all summer. I won't borrow if I can help it, but I know someone who would lend me five hundred if I wanted it;” and Ralph looked as eager and secure as if the earning of twice that sum was a mere trifle when all the longing of his life was put into his daily tasks.