o
Justin, she'll be the makin' of him, or I miss my guess. You can't do a
thing with men-folks without they're right alongside where you can keep
your eye and hand on 'em. Justin's handsome and good and stiddy; all he
needs is some nice woman to put starch into him. The Edgewood Peabodys
never had a mite o' stiffenin' in 'em,--limp as dishrags, every blessed
one! Nancy Wentworth fairly rustles with starch. Justin had n't been
engaged to her but a few hours when they walked up the aisle together,
but did you notice the way he carried his head? I declare I thought 't
would fall off behind! I should n't wonder a mite but they prospered and
come back every summer to set in the Old Peabody Pew."

SUSANNA AND SUE

I. Mother Ann's Children

It was the end of May, when "spring goeth all in white." The apple trees
were scattering their delicate petals on the ground, dropping them
over the stone walls to the roadsides, where in the moist places of the
shadows they fell on beds of snowy innocence. Here and there a single
tree was tinged with pink, but so faintly, it was as if the white were
blushing. Now and then a tiny white butterfly danced in the sun and
pearly clouds strayed across the sky in fleecy flocks.

Everywhere the grass was of ethereal greenness, a greenness drenched
with the pale yellow of spring sunshine. Looking from earth to sky
and from blossom to blossom, the little world of the apple orchards,
shedding its falling petals like fair-weather snow, seemed made of
alabaster and porcelain, ivory and mother-of-pearl, all shimmering on a
background of tender green.

After you pass Albion village, with its streets shaded by elms and
maples and its outskirts embowered in blossoming orchards, you wind
along a hilly country road that runs between grassy fields. Here the
whiteweed is already budding, and there are pleasant pastures dotted
with rocks and fringed with spruce and fir; stretches of woodland,
too, where the road is lined with giant pines and you lift your face
gratefully to catch the cool balsam breath of the forest. Coming from
out this splendid shade, this silence too deep to be disturbed by light
breezes or vagrant winds, you find yourself on the brow of a descending
hill. The first thing that strikes the eye is a lake that might be a
great blue sapphire dropped into the verdant hollow where it lies. When
the eye reluctantly leaves the lake on the left, it turns to rest
upon the little S