"We're all alone, too. My brother's gone to the County Fair an'
ain't comin' back 'til to-morrow."

Lucy's eyes lighted with pleasure.

"You're very kind," she cried, a tremor of happiness in her tone. "I'd
love to come."

They walked along, balancing their burden of berries and chatting of
garden, weather, and housework.

As they turned in at the Howe gate, Jane motioned proudly toward three
rows of flourishing vines that were clambering up a network of sustaining
brush.

"Those are our sweet peas," she remarked. "The first row is Mary's;
they're white. Then come Eliza's--pink ones. Mine are purple. Martin won't
plant his over here. He has 'em longside of the barn, an' they're all
colors mixed together. We don't like 'em that way, but he does. He's awful
fond of flowers, an' he has great luck with 'em, too. He seems to have a
great way with flowers. But he never cuts one blossom he raises. Ain't
that queer? He says he likes to see 'em growin'."

They were nearing the house.

"I reckon Mary an' 'Liza will be surprised enough to have me come bringin'
you home," observed Jane a trifle consciously. "We ain't done much
neighboring, have we?"

"No," returned Lucy quickly, "and I've been sorry. It seems a pity we
shouldn't be friends even if----" she stopped, embarrassed.

"Even if your aunt an' Martin do act like a pair of fools," interrupted
Jane. "Senseless, ain't it! Besides, it ain't Christian livin' at odds
with people. I never did approve of it."

"I'm sure I don't."

Jane nodded.

"We imagined you were like that," she said. "I told Mary an' 'Liza so the
day you come for the eggs. 'She ain't like her aunt,' I says to Mary, 'not
a mite; an' you can be pretty sure she won't be in sympathy with all this
squabblin' an' back-bitin'.'"

"Indeed I'm not."

"We ain't either, not one of us. We'd like nothin' better'n to be
neighborly an' run in. It's the only decent way of doin' when folks live
side by side. But Martin wouldn't listen to our doin' it, even if your
aunt would--which I know she wouldn't. He's awful set against the
Websters."

"How silly it seems!"

"That's what I tell him," Jane declared. "Of course your aunt's an old
woman, an' 'tain't surprisin' she should harbor a grudge against us. But
Martin's younger, an' had oughter be more forgivin'. It's nonsensical
feelin' you've got to be just as sour an' crabbed as your grandfather was.
I don't humor him in it--at least not more'n I have to to ke