that she was now blessed with an able
assistant whose time must not be wasted, seized upon the mild May weather
to deluge her home from top to bottom with soapsuds, sapolio, and fresh
paint. From morning until night Lucy worked, scrubbing and scouring,
brushing and beating.

As she toiled up the stairs, carrying pails of steaming water, she caught
through the windows glimpses of the valley, its verdant depths threaded by
the river's silvery windings. The heavens had never been bluer. Everywhere
gladness was in the air, and the thrill of it filled the girl with longing
to be in the heart of its magic.

Ellen, however, was entirely oblivious to the miracle taking place in the
universe about her. The glory of the awakening season, with its hosts of
unfurling leaves and opening buds, was nothing to her. Had she not been
dependent on the sun to make her garden grow, she would probably never
have lifted her face to its golden rays. Only as nature furthered her
projects did she acknowledge its presence.

The Howes seemed, to some extent at least, to share this disregard for the
out-of-door world, for like Ellen they, too, surrendered themselves to a
household upheaval quite as merciless as that of the Websters. No sooner
would Martin disappear with horse and plow in the direction of the garden
than the three sisters could be seen feverishly dragging mattresses on to
the piazza roof for a sunning; shaking blankets; and beating rugs.

Now and then, when the sound of their measured blows reached Ellen's ears,
she would leap to close the windows on the side of the house where there
was danger of the Howe germs drifting in and polluting the Webster Lares
and Penates.

It was one day after being thus impelled that Lucy was surprised to see
her linger and stare intently.

"What are them women a-doin'?" she exclaimed at last. "Do come here,
Lucy."

Discarding her mop, the girl crossed the room.

Through the gaps in the trees Mary, Eliza, and Jane Howe were plainly
visible. They had shovels in their hands and were struggling with the turf
at the foot of the big linden tree beside the house.

"They seem to be digging a hole," Lucy said, after watching a moment.

"What for, do you suppose?"

Ellen fidgeted at the casement for a short time and then disappeared, only
to return with an old pair of field glasses. Adjusting them to her eyes,
she stared at her neighbors with unconcealed curiosity.

"They _are_ diggin' a hole," sh