GIRL, not much more than a child, was sitting curled up in the low fork of a pepper-tree near the house. A book was crushed under her elbow. She was watching some chickens that pecked about on the bare ground: stupid hens, a proud rooster with glancing green feathers, and a few pigeons, treading daintily like coquettish strangers. A breeze swept the long fronds of the pepper-tree: the hot afternoon sun drew out the spicy smell of peppers, blue-gum, and climbing roses.
A young man came out of the house and stood swinging a gold-handled whip. He was tall and very slender, with gallant blue eyes, a red spot on either cheek, and a little mustache twisted into points; his felt hat sat rakishly on one side of his handsome head. The girl watched him through the pepper-branches till he came toward her. Then she snatched up her book and turned her shoulder to him. He pushed his way through the branches and stood looking at her with a slight, rather appealing smile.
“What are you reading, Milly?” he asked.
The girl did not answer. Her face, bent over the book, showed a brown oval between two thick hanging braids of black hair. She turned a page with an expression of absorbed interest.
“Can’t you speak to a fellow?” demanded the young man impatiently.
She gave no sign of hearing him: and after a moment he turned on his heel and walked away. The girl’s narrow dark eyes watched him over her book. She saw him stop a moment and speak to her mother, who had come out on the steps; then he went on toward the stable.
ILLY’S mother was a fair woman, with smooth bands of blonde hair She had some white sewing on her arm.
“Milly!" she called in a soft, colorless voice.
"What?" said Milly, without moving.
“Come here; I want you to try on your dress."
Milly uncurled herself and dropped out of the tree. She wore a faded blue dress that stopped short above her shoe-tops. Her slim young body was childish; her arms and legs were long and thin. She walked up on the steps, and her mother slipped the white skirt over her head.
"I just want to see about the length," she said. And then, continuing in the same tone: “I wish you wouldn’t act as you do to Walter. I can’t see why you behave so to him. Milly, I think it’s dreadful of you.”
"Make it long," said Milly, looking at the hem of her skirt. "Make it down to my ankles—and make the waist tighter."
"Nonsense! I sha’n’t do anything of the sort—you aren’t old enough for long dresses. Did you hear what I said about Walter?"
“Yes, I heard. I want you to make this dress below my shoe-tops, mother, or else I won't wear it. I’m plenty old enough. I won’t wear it as short as this; I look silly.”
“You’d look silly if you tried to be grown up when you’re only a little girl Well, I’ll let down the hem a little. Now, Milly, I want you to treat Walter differently. I should think you’d be ashamed, when you know he's ill and is here to try and get strong, and we all try to make him comfortable—poor boy!”
ILLY’S mouth closed firmly and her narrow eyes looked out over her mother's bent head with an obstinate expression.
"Do you hear?" asked the mother, in a tone as near impatience as she could arrive at.
"Yes," answered Milly.
“Well, will you do as I say and be a little more pleasant to Walter?”
"No, I won’t be pleasant. I hate him,” sail Milly, coolly.
“Milly! A poor sick boy like that! How dare you say such a thing!”
“I do hate him.”
“Don’t let me hear you use such language again! I don't know what you mean by it. What has he ever done, that you should speak so?"
“He hasn't done anything. I just hate him, that's all.”
“Milly! I must make this dress a good deal broader across the shoulders—how you are growing!” said Milly’s mother, sighing deeply.
“Well, I can’t help growing,” said Milly. with an injured look. “Don’t you want me to grow up? You know you don’t know what to do with me now.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, mother, you often say it.”
“You are a hard child to manage, Milly. You know, you don’t pay the slightest attention to what I say. I feel dreadfully that you should treat a visitor in our house as you do, and without any excuse. Walter thinks he must have hurt your feelings in some way, and he"
“He hasn’t hurt my feelings," said Milly, with irritation. She stepped out of the white skirt, and her mother picked it up.
“Then why can’t you speak nicely to him? He may not be here much longer"
Milly turned round suddenly.
“Is he going away?” she asked.