The next morning Helen repaired to Evelyn’s abode, which stood on the outskirts of the town, and found him all ready to begin the painting of which he had spoken the day before.
“You look a little pale, Helen,” he said as she entered his studio. “You are always as blooming as a rose. Are you not well?”
The girl did not answer, and presently her countenance brightened, for by nature she was of a cheery disposition, ever hoping for the best, even when the sky looked darkest; and, besides, it was never difficult for the companion of her earliest years to interest her.
“Look,” continued Evelyn, “look at that oriole singing on the elm-tree yonder; his mate is hidden in the deep pear-shaped nest, with a tiny door on the side, which you see dangling from the end of the limb. Well, I have given that beautiful bird a new name; I have christened it the Baltimore bird, because we find in its golden plumage, mixed with deep black, the colors of Lord Baltimore’s arms. And his lordship was highly pleased yesterday when he heard the new name.”
“What a fanciful boy you are!” answered Helen, smiling.
“And, Helen,” he went on, “I am composing a new song for your harpsichord. You see you have inspired me to become a poet as well as an artist.”
“I sometimes fear that I have caused you to dwell too much in Cloud-land,” said Helen. Then, a little abruptly, “Evelyn,” she added, “did you ever cut down a tree?”
Ere the young baronet could make reply Berkeley, with an axe strapped across his shoulders, galloped up to the open window of the studio.
“Good morning! good-morning!” cried the surveyor. “Why, Helen, I am lucky to catch you here; I was going as nigh the tower as I durst venture, in order to bid you good-by.”
“Good-by! What mean you?” exclaimed Helen, betraying in her voice and looks the anxiety she felt.