It was Flip, but Flip made taller by the lengthened skirt and clinging habiliments of fashion.

Flip freckled, but, through the cunning of a relief of yellow color in her gown, her piquant brown-shot face and eyes brightened and intensified until she seemed like a spicy odor made visible.

I cannot affirm that the judgment of Flip's mysterious _modiste_ was infallible, or that the taste of Mr.Lance Harriott, her patron, was fastidious; enough that it was picturesque, and perhaps not more glaring and extravagant than the color in which Spring herself had once clothed the sere hillside where Flip was now seated.

The phantom mirror in the tree fork caught and held her with the sky, the green leaves, the sunlight and all the graciousness of her surroundings, and the wind gently tossed her hair and the gay ribbons of her gypsy hat.
Suddenly she started.

Some remote sound in the trail below, inaudible to any ear less fine than hers, arrested her breathing.