she snaps at him. "I know I'll have
indigestion, and you'll be to bla--Mercy land! Them eggs!" and she
gathers up her skirts and flits. He escorts her gallantly, but returns
to pick a few for himself, and to cock his head knowingly at the boy,
as much as to say: "Man of family, by Ned. Or--or soon will be. Oh, yes,
any minute now, any minute."

And if I remember rightly, he even winks at the boy with a wink whose
full significance the boy does not learn till many years after when
it dawns upon him that it meant: "You got to make allowances for 'em.
Especially at such a time. All upset, you know, and worried. Oh, yes.
You got to; you got to make allowances for 'em."

Day by day the air grows balmier and softer on the cheek. Out in the
garden, ranks of yellow-green pikes stand stiffly at "Present.
Hump!" and rosettes of the same color crumple through the warm soil,
unconsciously preparing for a soul tragedy. For an evening will come
when a covered dish will be upon the supper-table, and when the cover is
taken off, a subtle fragrance will betray, if the sense of sight do not,
that the chopped-up lettuces and onions are in a marsh of cider vinegar,
demanding to be eaten. And your big sister will squall out in comic
distress: "Oh, ma! You are too mean for anything! Why did you have 'em
tonight? I told you Mr. Dellabaugh was going to call, and you know how I
love spring onions! Well, I don't care. I'm just going to, anyhow."

Things come with such a rush now, it is hard to tell what happens in
its proper order. The apple-trees blossom out like pop-corn over the hot
coals. The Japan quince repeats its farfamed imitation of the Burning
Bush of Moses; the flowering currants are strung with knobs of vivid
yellow fringe; the dead grass from the front yard, the sticks and stalks
and old tomato vines, the bits of rag and the old bones that Guess has
gnawed upon are burning in the alley, and the tormented smoke is darting
this way and that, trying to get out from under the wind that seeks to
flatten it to the ground. All this is spring, and--and yet it isn't. The
word is not yet spoken that sets us free to live the outdoor life; we
are yet prisoners and captives of the house.

But, one day in school, the heat that yesterday was nice and cozy
becomes too dry and baking for endurance. The young ones come in from
recess red, not with the brilliant glow of winter, but a sort of scalded
red. They juke their heads forward to escape th