cow ready to jump
off, are remnants of roads, and forests, and mountains."

"You _can_ see the man in the moon," she returned decisively. "Sometimes
he laughs. And the cow has great horns. I should be afraid of them if I
met such a cow. Ours are so small and tame."

"You will see large ones in Salem. But I think, for the most part, they
are gentle."

She never wearied talking over the strange things. And so she came to
have her head filled with wonderful lore that indeed cropped out now and
then all her life long until she felt as if she had really been in
fairyland.

It seemed stranger here than on shipboard. The others were going through
the ceremony of getting acquainted. Rachel Winn's voice had a soft
sound, with an almost foreign accent. Eunice's, though low-pitched, had
a clear resonance. Now and then Chilian Leverett made a comment, or
asked a question, but she was not heeding them. Her heart and mind had
wandered back to her father and that wonderful land where nothing ever
seemed bleak, though in long hot droughts it was arid. But there were
always temples, and palaces, and picturesque huts, and women and
children in gay attire, old men kneeling somewhere, praying but keeping
a sharp lookout for alms.

Chilian Leverett had been watching the small face and wondering at the
changes passing over it. Now he saw some tears slowly coursing down the
pale cheeks, and his heart was moved with infinite pity.

Suddenly a robin alighted on the limb of a tree and began picking at the
buds. Then he held his head up straight, swelled out his brownish red
breast, and poured forth such a volume of melody that the effort fairly
made him dance with joy. Spring had surely come! It was the time of love
and joy, and all things made over new.

She turned a trifle. Her face was transfigured with delight. Her eyes
shone, though the tears were still wet on her cheek.

CHAPTER III

A STRANGER, YET AT HOME

Rachel Winn settled herself to the new order of things more readily than
the Leveretts. Or rather she seemed to take the lead in arrangements for
herself and her charge. She was after all a sort of nurse and
waiting-maid, though she had a fine dignity about it that even Elizabeth
could not gainsay. She was to be one of the family, there could be no
objection to that in the simple New England living. Though it was true,
times were changing greatly since the days of war and privation, and
perhaps the mingling of peop