Cordelia went to where Mrs. Ransom was busy with the bay leaves and sat down on the dry ground beside her.
"A victor's crown," she said gayly. "So you are going to reward the winner?"
"Oh no, I have been playing little girl. When I was a child I used to make wreaths like this, only I have lost the ready knack I had then."
"It's such a delightful thing to be a little girl," said Cordelia, impulsively laying her hand on Mrs. Ransom's arm and fixing her frank eyes upon her face. "I wish I could have always staid about thirteen—that's the golden age, I think, don't you?"
"I was a very happy little girl," replied Mrs. Ransom. The evasiveness in her voice and the far away look that came for a moment into her large blue eyes, were not observed by Cordelia, who, with a buoyant, retrospective ring in her voice, exclaimed—
"Oh, so was I, ever so happy. There never was any one who had so delightful a time. It was so easy to be happy then."
"You don't look very sad, even now," said Mrs. Ransom, wholly recovering her sweet, half-sad smile.
Cordelia laughed merrily.
"One can't always tell what a world of trouble a face like mine may mask," she replied in her lightest way, but it gave her a real pang the next moment, recollecting Mrs. Ransom's bitter experience. She picked up the wreath, which was now finished, and put it on her head. It gave to her plump, joyous face an air so free, fresh and almost rustic, that one might have mistaken her for a Western farmer's daughter. Mrs. Ransom looked at her for a moment, and then on a sudden impulse, put a hand on either glowing cheek, and drawing her forward, kissed her again and again.
"I hope your dear, sweet face will never be more of a mask than it is now," she said. "You blush as if my kiss had been——"