discouraged the others. At any rate, Ellen and Charlotte and
George Ingelow at the Grange were single, and so was Paul down at
Greenwood Farm.

It was seventeen years since Elizabeth had married James Sheldon in
the face of the most decided opposition on the part of her family.
Sheldon was a handsome, shiftless ne'er-do-well, without any violent
bad habits, but also "without any backbone," as the Ingelows declared.
"There is sometimes hope of a man who is actively bad," Charlotte
Ingelow had said sententiously, "but who ever heard of reforming a
jellyfish?"

Elizabeth and her husband had gone west and settled on a prairie farm
in Manitoba. She had never been home since. Perhaps her pride kept her
away, for she had the Ingelow share of that, and she soon discovered
that her family's estimate of James Sheldon had been the true one.
There was no active resentment on either side, and once in a long
while letters were exchanged. Still, ever since her marriage,
Elizabeth had been practically an outsider and an alien. As the years
came and went the Ingelows at home remembered only at long intervals
that they had a sister on the western prairies.

One of these remembrances came to Charlotte Ingelow on a spring
afternoon when the great orchards about the Grange were pink and white
with apple and cherry blossoms, and over every hill and field was a
delicate, flower-starred green. A soft breeze was blowing loose petals
from the August Sweeting through the open door of the wide hall when
Charlotte came through it. Ellen and George were standing on the steps
outside.

"This kind of a day always makes me think of Elizabeth," said
Charlotte dreamily. "It was in apple-blossom time she went away." The
Ingelows always spoke of Elizabeth's going away, never of her
marrying.

"Seventeen years ago," said Ellen. "Why, Elizabeth's oldest child must
be quite a young woman now! I--I--" a sudden idea swept over and left
her a little breathless. "I would really like to see her."

"Then why don't you write and ask her to come east and visit us?"
asked George, who did not often speak, but who always spoke to some
purpose when he did.

Ellen and Charlotte looked at each other. "I would like to see
Elizabeth's child," repeated Ellen firmly.

"Do you think she would come?" asked Charlotte. "You know when James
Sheldon died five years ago, we wrote to Elizabeth and asked her to
come home and live with us, and she seemed almost resentful in