efore I die."

[Sidenote: Madame's Dream]

"Rather a large order, isn't it?" He laughed indifferently, and went on
with his reading. Madame laughed, too, as she continued her solitaire,
but, none the less, she dreamed that night that the house was full of
women with red hair, and that each one was gazing earnestly into the
depths of a crystal ball.

IV

April's Sun

[Sidenote: The Joy of Morning]

With a rush of warm winds and a tinkle of raindrops, Spring danced over
the hills. The river stirred beneath the drifting ice, then woke into
musical murmuring. Even the dead reeds and dry rushes at the bend of the
stream gave forth a faint melody when swayed by the full waters beneath.

The joy of morning was abroad in the world. Robins sang it, winds
whispered it, and, beneath the sod, every fibre of root and tree
quivered with aspiration, groping through the labyrinth of darkness with
a blind impulse toward the light. Across the valley, on the southern
slope, a faint glow of green seemed to hover above the dark tangle of
the vineyard, like some indefinite suggestion of colour, promising the
sure beauty yet to come.

Rosemary had climbed the Hill of the Muses early in the afternoon. She,
too, was awake, in every fibre of body and soul. Springs had come and
gone before--twenty-five of them--but she had never known one like this.
A vague delight possessed her, and her heart throbbed as from
imprisoned wings. Purpose and uplift and aspiration swayed her
strangely; she yearned blindly toward some unknown goal.

[Sidenote: The Family Religion]

She had not seen Alden for a long time. The melting ice and snow had
made the hill unpleasant, if not impossible, and the annual sewing had
kept her closely indoors. She and Aunt Matilda had made the year's
supply of underwear from the unbleached muslin, and one garment for each
from the bolt of brown-and-white gingham. Rosemary disdained to say
"gown" or even "dress," for the result of her labour was a garment,
simply, and nothing more.

Every third Summer she had a new white muslin, of the cheapest quality,
which she wore to church whenever it was ordained that she should go.
Grandmother and Aunt Matilda were deeply religious, but not according to
any popular plan. They had their own private path to Heaven, and had
done their best to set Rosemary's feet firmly upon it, but with small
success.

When she was a child, Rosemary had spent many long, desolate Sunday
af