He recalled what care he had taken in washing and combing and dressing, how he had finally cut cross-lots to the girl's home for fear of being seen, for surely he had thought, everybody must know what he was up to!--how he had lingered about the back door, and had at last, when the door opened, scudded back home as fast as his legs could carry him! And now, the finest girl he had ever seen was chumming with him, and he was not afraid, that is, not very much afraid.
When Mildred had packed up to go home on the occasion of her former visit she had invited Mrs.Trent to take her pick of her drawings for her own.
"All but this," Mildred had said.

"This which I call 'Sunset in the Marshland' I am going to give to Dorian." The mother had looked over the pile of sketches.

There was a panel in crayon which the artist said was the big cottonwood down by the Corners.
Mrs.Trent remarked that she never would have known it, but then, she added apologetically, she never had an eye for art.

There was a winter scene where the houses were so sunk into the earth that only the roofs were visible.

(Mrs.Trent had often wondered why the big slanting roofs were the only artistic thing about a house).