"You must be very tired, Cousin Ellen," I said as kindly as I could, moved somehow with sympathy by the utter dejection of her attitude and expression.
When I spoke directly to her she looked me full in the face, and I noted the singular beauty of her eyes. They were large, almond-shaped, the bluest I have ever seen, and rayed with minute, dark lines which centered in the wide pupils. Moreover, the dark lashes, which fringed thickly their white lids, curved upward, and when they were lifted almost touched the gracefully arched black brows. Otherwise her face was not pretty; it was too long, too thin and too pale; the nose was somewhat sharp and the lips were compressed in an expression that denoted either sullenness or restrained misery, while the black hair, which had been cropped like a boy's, was stubbly and unbecoming.
"I am not tired," she answered, rather scornfully; "I'm very strong."
"But you are lonely," I said, "I wish we had brought Jean with us." Then casting about in my mind for some more available resource to offer her, I asked impulsively: "Would you like to go duck shooting this afternoon with Thomas and me? Jean goes with me sometimes."
"I would like it, but I cannot go."
"And why not?"
"My Aunt Martha says that girls should be satisfied to keep busy within doors. I am to learn to spin, and to weave, and then I'll not have time to get lonesome, she says."
"Do you not know how to spin and weave, Ellen? Why, even Jean can spin, and she's but thirteen," put in Thomas.
"My mother did not make me do the things I detested," answered Ellen with a flash of her eyes toward Thomas; then to me, with some show of interest, "Who is Jean?"
"My little sister. What do you like to do, Cousin Ellen?"