Her tone was hoarse with passion. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. I completed it according to the directions, you see, and it was a beautiful machine, a triangle sort of, with a steering column I built out of an old wheelbarrow and a hubcap. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. There's a feather in your cap! No house-breaker was ever so highly honoured before. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape.
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