ven in the city, when they betook
themselves early to the railway station, leaving Aunt Jane luxuriously
sipping tea and nibbling toast in bed--_this_ time with her nightcap on.

March had come in like a lion; but its lamblike qualities were now
manifest and it really did seem as though the breath of spring permeated
the atmosphere--even down here in the smoky, dirty city. The thought
of growing things inspired 'Phemie to stop at a seed store near the
station and squander a few pennies in sweet-peas.

"I know mother used to put them in just as soon as she could dig at all
in the ground," she told her sister.

"I don't believe they'll be a very profitable crop," observed Lyddy.

"My goodness me!" exclaimed 'Phemie, "let's retain a little sentiment,
Lyd! We can't eat 'em--no; but they're sweet and restful to look at. I'm
going to have moon-flowers and morning-glories, too," and she recklessly
expended more pennies for those seeds.

Their train was waiting when they reached the station and the sisters
boarded it in some excitement. 'Phemie's gaiety increased the nearer they
approached to Bridleburg, which was their goal. She was a plump, rosy
girl, with broad, thick plaits of light-brown hair ("molasses-color"
she called it in contempt) which she had begun to "do up" only upon going
to work. She had a quick blue eye, a laughing mouth, rather wide, but
fine; a nose that an enemy--had laughing, good-natured Euphemia Bray
owned one--might have called "slightly snubbed," and her figure was just
coming into womanhood.

Lydia's appearance was entirely different. They did not look much like
sisters, to state the truth.

The older girl was tall, straight as a dart, with a dignity of carriage
beyond her years, dark hair that waved very prettily and required little
dressing, and a clear, colorless complexion. Her eyes were very dark
gray, her nose high and well chiseled, like Aunt Jane's. She was more
of a Phelps. Aunt Jane declared Lyddy resembled Dr. Apollo, or "Polly,"
Phelps more than had either of his own children.

The train passed through a dun and sodden country. The late thaw and the
rains had swept the snow from these lowlands; the unfilled fields were
brown and bare.

Here and there, however, rye and wheat sprouted green and promising,
and in the distance a hedge of water-maples along the river bank seemed
standing in a purple mist, for their young leaves were already pushing
into the light.

"There will be pu