Miss
Martha Rose dressed always in gray, a fashion
which the village people grudgingly admired. It
was undoubtedly becoming and distinguished, but
savored ever so slightly of ostentation, as did her
custom of always dressing little Lucy in blue. There
were different shades and fabrics, but blue it always
was. It was the best color for the child, as it re-
vealed the fact that her big, dark eyes were blue.
Shaded as they were by heavy, curly lashes, they
would have been called black or brown, but the blue
in them leaped to vision above the blue of blue
frocks. Little Lucy had the finest, most delicate
features, a mist of soft, dark hair, which curled
slightly, as mist curls, over sweet, round temples.
She was a small, daintily clad child, and she spoke
and moved daintily and softly; and when her blue
eyes were fixed upon anybody's face, that person
straightway saw love and obedience and trust in
them, and love met love half-way. Even Miss
Martha Rose looked another woman when little
Lucy's innocent blue eyes were fixed upon her rather
handsome but colorless face between the folds of
her silvery hair; Miss Martha's hair had turned
prematurely gray. Light would come into Martha
Rose's face, light and animation, although she never
talked much even to Lucy. She never talked much
to her cousin Cyril, but he was rather glad of it.
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