ny, single, sweetbreathed early roses. The Old Lady had no fear of
discovery, for the flowers that grew in her garden grew in every other
Spencervale garden as well, including the Stewart garden. Chris Stewart,
when he was teased about the music teacher, merely smiled and held
his peace. Chris knew perfectly well who was the real giver of those
flowers. He had made it his business to find out when the Mayflower
gossip started. But since it was evident Old Lady Lloyd did not wish it
to be known, Chris told no one. Chris had always liked Old Lady Lloyd
ever since the day, ten years before, when she had found him crying in
the woods with a cut foot and had taken him into her house, and bathed
and bound the wound, and given him ten cents to buy candy at the store.
The Old Lady went without supper that night because of it, but Chris
never knew that.

The Old Lady thought it a most beautiful June. She no longer hated the
new days; on the contrary, she welcomed them.

"Every day is an uncommon day now," she said jubilantly to herself--for
did not almost every day bring her a glimpse of Sylvia? Even on rainy
days the Old Lady gallantly braved rheumatism to hide behind her clump
of dripping spruces and watch Sylvia pass. The only days she could not
see her were Sundays; and no Sundays had ever seemed so long to Old Lady
Lloyd as those June Sundays did.

One day the egg pedlar had news for her.

"The music teacher is going to sing a solo for a collection piece
to-morrow," he told her.

The Old Lady's black eyes flashed with interest.

"I didn't know Miss Gray was a member of the choir," she said.

"Jined two Sundays ago. I tell you, our music is something worth
listening to now. The church'll be packed to-morrow, I reckon--her
name's gone all over the country for singing. You ought to come and hear
it, Miss Lloyd."

The pedlar said this out of bravado, merely to show he wasn't scared of
the Old Lady, for all her grand airs. The Old Lady made no answer, and
he thought he had offended her. He went away, wishing he hadn't said it.
Had he but known it, the Old Lady had forgotten the existence of all and
any egg pedlars. He had blotted himself and his insignificance out of
her consciousness by his last sentence. All her thoughts, feelings, and
wishes were submerged in a very whirlpool of desire to hear Sylvia sing
that solo. She went into the house in a tumult and tried to conquer that
desire. She could not do it, even though