ay," she said, "because I had some
sewing to finish, so those unfortunate Hornblower children might begin
the spring term at school to-morrow; and when I once smell the cherry
flowers, my very bones ache to be out doors, and I'm not good for a thing
but to potter about the garden from now on, until the strawberries show
red, and everything settles down for summer. It's always been the same,
since I was a little girl, and used to watch the cherry blooms up through
the top sash of the schoolhouse windows, when they had screened the lower
part to keep us from idling, and it's lasted all through my married life.
The Squire and I always went on a May picnic by ourselves, until the
year he died, though the neighbours all reckoned us feeble-minded."

The "Sweating of the Corn," I almost said aloud.

"I've reasoned with myself every spring all through the between years,
until now I've made up my mind it's something that's meant to be, and I'm
going to give in to it. Sit down here under the trees, my dear, and
Esther Nichols will bring us some tea and fresh cider cake. Yes, I see
that you look surprised to have afternoon tea offered on Pine Ridge, but
I got the habit from the English grandmother that reared me, and I've
always counted it a better hospitality than the customary home-made
cordials and syrups that, between ourselves, make one stomach-sick. Yes,
there comes Esther now; she always knows my wants. She and her husband
are distant cousins of the Bradfords, and my helpers indoors and out, for
I am too old to manage farm hands, especially now that they are mostly
Slavs, and it makes Horace feel happier to have kinsfolk here than if I
trusted to transient service."

So we sipped the well-made breakfast tea beneath the cherry blossoms as I
told her about my boys and Miss Lavinia's expected visit. When father
called for me I left reluctantly, feeling as if nobody need be without a
family, when one becomes necessary, for in addition to an aunt in Lavinia
Dorman I had found a sort of spirit grandmother there in the remote and
peaceful highlands,--a woman at once simple and restful, yet withal
having no narrowness or crudity to cramp or jar.

It was nearly five o'clock when we turned into the highway west of the
Bluffs. We had gone but a few rods when a great clanking of chains and
jar of wheels sounded behind. As I stretched out to see what was coming,
a horn sounded merrily.

"A coaching party," said father. "I will turn