talk to
her, seated in one corner of the pulled-up sofa, her work-basket on a
small table beside her, or he could drop into a big chair within reach
of her hand and still feel the glow of the fire. Jane smiled at the
changes and gave Lucy free rein to do as she pleased. Her own nature
had never required these nicer luxuries; she had been too busy, and in
these last years of her life too anxious, to think of them, and so the
room had been left as in the days of her father.

The effect of the rearrangement was not lost on the neighbors. They at
once noticed the sense of cosiness everywhere apparent, and in
consequence called twice as often, and it was not long before the
old-fashioned sitting-room became a stopping-place for everybody who
had half an hour to spare.

These attractions, with the aid of a generous hospitality, Lucy did her
best to maintain, partly because she loved excitement and partly
because she intended to win the good-will of her neighbors--those who
might be useful to her. The women succumbed at once. Not only were her
manners most gracious, but her jewels of various kinds, her gowns of
lace and frou-frou, her marvellous hats, her assortment of parasols,
her little personal belongings and niceties--gold scissors, thimbles,
even the violet ribbons that rippled through her transparent
underlaces--so different from those of any other woman they knew--were
a constant source of wonder and delight. To them she was a beautiful
Lady Bountiful who had fluttered down among them from heights above,
and whose departure, should it ever take place, would leave a gloom
behind that nothing could illumine.

To the men she was more reserved. Few of them ever got beyond a
handshake and a smile, and none of them ever reached the borders of
intimacy. Popularity in a country village could never, she knew, be
gained by a pretty woman without great discretion. She explained her
foresight to Jane by telling her that there was no man of her world in
Warehold but the doctor, and that she wouldn't think of setting her cap
for him as she would be gray-haired before he would have the courage to
propose. Then she kissed Jane in apology, and breaking out into a
rippling laugh that Martha heard upstairs, danced out of the room.

Little Ellen, too, had her innings; not only was she prettily dressed,
presenting the most joyous of pictures, as with golden curls flying
about her shoulders she flitted in and out of the rooms like a sp