rom the
birches, shimmering as they fell. Amethystine haze lay upon the valley,
shot through with silver gleams from the river that murmured toward the
sea with the sound of far waters asleep.

Purple lights laid enchantment upon the distant hills, where the
Tapestry-Maker had stored her threads--great skeins of crimson and
golden green, russet and flaming orange, to be woven into the warp and
woof of September by some magic of starlight and dawn. Lost rainbows and
forgotten sunsets had mysteriously come back, to lie for a moment upon
hill or river, and then to disappear.

[Sidenote: Making Ready]

Noon had been chosen for the ceremony, in the little church at the foot
of the Hill of the Muses, for, as Alden had said, with a laugh, "even
though it was private, it might as well be fashionable." Aunt Matilda
was up at dawn, putting new lace into the neck and sleeves of her best
brown alpaca, as tremulous and anxious as though she herself were to be
the bride.

Rosemary had packed her few belongings the day before, in the little
old-fashioned trunk that had been her mother's. As she dressed, Aunt
Matilda sat on the bed, pathetically eager to help in some way, though
it might be only to pin up a stray lock or tie a shoe.

Rosemary shook out the dull ashen masses of her hair with a sigh. As she
put it up, Alden's big betrothal diamond blazed star-like upon her
rough, red hand. She contemplated it ruefully--it seemed so out of
place--then brightened at the memory of the promise Mrs. Marsh had made
so long ago.

"She'll teach me how to take care of my hands," said Rosemary, half to
herself, "so they'll look like hers."

"She?" repeated Aunt Matilda. "Who?"

[Sidenote: Matilda's Compensation]

"Mrs. Marsh--mother."

"Yes, I guess she will. She'll teach you a lot of things Ma and me have
never heard tell of. Maybe you'd just as soon ask her, Rosemary, why she
never returned my call?"

"I will, surely. I don't think she meant anything by it, Aunt Matilda.
She might have been busy and forgotten about it. Anyhow, you'll have to
come to see me now."

"Yes, I will. I've thought I'd put the minister's tintype up on the
mantel now, as long as Ma ain't likely to see it. It'll be company for
me. And I reckon I'll get me a cat. I always wanted one and Ma would
never let me have it. I can keep it down-stairs and she may never know
about it, but even if she hears it meowing, or me talkin' to it, she
can't say nothin' about