as herself, with all her own fullness of life
and joy of living. And, besides these, a miracle had happened in Old Man
Shaw's garden. In one corner was a rose-bush which had never bloomed,
despite all the coaxing they had given it--"the sulky rose-bush,"
Sara had been wont to call it. Lo! this summer had flung the hoarded
sweetness of years into plentiful white blossoms, like shallow ivory
cups with a haunting, spicy fragrance. It was in honour of Sara's
home-coming--so Old Man Shaw liked to fancy. All things, even the sulky
rose-bush, knew she was coming back, and were making glad because of it.

He was gloating over Sara's letter when Mrs. Peter Blewett came. She
told him she had run up to see how he was getting on, and if he wanted
anything seen to before Sara came.

"No'm, thank you, ma'am. Everything is attended to. I couldn't let
anyone else prepare for Blossom. Only to think, ma'am, she'll be home
the day after to-morrow. I'm just filled clear through, body, soul, and
spirit, with joy to think of having my little Blossom at home again."

Mrs. Blewett smiled sourly. When Mrs. Blewett smiled it foretokened
trouble, and wise people had learned to have sudden business elsewhere
before the smile could be translated into words. But Old Man Shaw had
never learned to be wise where Mrs. Blewett was concerned, although she
had been his nearest neighbour for years, and had pestered his life out
with advice and "neighbourly turns."

Mrs. Blewett was one with whom life had gone awry. The effect on her was
to render happiness to other people a personal insult. She resented Old
Man Shaw's beaming delight in his daughter's return, and she "considered
it her duty" to rub the bloom off straightway.

"Do you think Sary'll be contented in White Sands now?" she asked.

Old Man Shaw looked slightly bewildered.

"Of course she'll be contented," he said slowly. "Isn't it her home? And
ain't I here?"

Mrs. Blewett smiled again, with double distilled contempt for such
simplicity.

"Well, it's a good thing you're so sure of it, I suppose. If 'twas
my daughter that was coming back to White Sands, after three years of
fashionable life among rich, stylish folks, and at a swell school, I
wouldn't have a minute's peace of mind. I'd know perfectly well that
she'd look down on everything here, and be discontented and miserable."

"YOUR daughter might," said Old Man Shaw, with more sarcasm than he had
supposed he had possessed, "but Bl