this safe, secluded corner, amid familiar and
thoroughly known conditions, she moved placidly about her daily tasks,
performing them with the same care and precision that she had used from
the beginning of her married life. All the heavy work was done for her
by Ivory and Rodman; the boy in particular being the fleetest-footed,
the most willing, and the neatest of helpers; washing dishes, sweeping
and dusting, laying the table, as deftly and quietly as a girl. Mrs.
Boynton made her own simple dresses of gray calico in summer, or dark
linsey-woolsey in winter by the same pattern that she had used when
she first came to Edgewood: in fact there were positively no external
changes anywhere to be seen, tragic and terrible as had been those that
had wrought havoc in her mind.

Waitstill's heart beat faster as she neared the Boynton house. She had
never so much as seen Ivory's mother for years. How would she be met?
Who would begin the conversation, and what direction would it take? What
if Mrs. Boynton should refuse to talk to her at all? She walked slowly
along the lane until she saw a slender, gray-clad figure stooping over
a flower-bed in front of the cottage. The woman raised her head with a
fawn-like gesture that had something in it of timidity rather than fear,
picked some loose bits of green from the ground, and, quietly turning
her back upon the on coming stranger, disappeared through the open front
door.

There could be no retreat on her own part now, thought Waitstill. She
wished for a moment that she had made this first visit under Ivory's
protection, but her idea had been to gain Mrs. Boynton's confidence and
have a quiet friendly talk, such a one as would be impossible in the
presence of a third person. Approaching the steps, she called through
the doorway in her clear voice: "Ivory asked me to come and see you one
day, Mrs. Boynton. I am Waitstill Baxter, the little girl on Town House
Hill that you used to know."

Mrs. Boynton came from an inner room and stood on the threshold. The
name "Waitstill" had always had a charm for her ears, from the time she
first heard it years ago, until it fell from Ivory's lips this summer;
and again it caught her fancy.

"'WAITSTILL!"' she repeated softly; "'WAITSTILL!' Does Ivory know you?"

"We've known each other for ever so long; ever since we went to the
brick school together when we were girl and boy. And when I was a child
my stepmother brought me over here once on a