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"A princess indeed!" thought Miles. "A princess with hair like the gold of sunlight and cheeks like the blossoms above her! An Orchard Princess!" He experienced a feeling of exultation seemingly out of proportion to the mere finding of a girl painting a view of pink blossoms and green, sunlit foliage. He felt as though something which all his life had been foredoomed to happen had suddenly come to pass. There was no understanding just what he did feel, and he didn't try. He merely stood there and looked and looked, until presently Bistre, perhaps finding the inaction irksome, growled again. It wasn't a savage growl, but the girl at the easel heard it and turned and saw them.
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Miles stepped forth from concealment.
So did Bistre.
