Among them stood a slender girl in a checked gingham, tying vines to a trellis.
"Morn'n', Ethel," said the visitor.
The girl smiled at him.

She was not very pretty, because her face was long and wan, and her nose a bit one-sided.

But her golden hair sparkled in the sun like a mass of spun gold, and the smile was winning in its unconscious sweetness.

Surely, such attractions were enough for a mere country girl.
Ethel Thompson had, however, another claim to distinction.

She had been "eddicated," as her neighbors acknowledged in awed tones, and "took a diploma from a college school at Troy." Young as she was, Ethel had taught school for two years, and might have a life tenure if she cared to retain the position.