Page:An orchard princess (IA orchardprincess00barbiala).pdf/112

 Then he snapped his fingers to Bistre and went on down the slope.

As before, she was all in white,—white as fresh and clean as the April morning itself. The sleeves of her waist were pushed back to her elbows and the slim, rounded arms gleamed like new ivory. A white linen stock was about her neck and the ends were thrown over one shoulder. The white skirt had been turned up across her knees, away from the wet grass, and from beneath the lace of the underskirt two slender, tan-clad ankles moved restlessly. She was painting busily in an effort to catch the tender tints of early morning, and her brush flew eagerly from palette to canvas and from canvas to palette. The blue-checked painting apron had fallen unnoticed from her lap, her cheeks were flushed a deeper pink by the little tur