and cotton
dresses, and her ma readin' to her pa in hammocks on the piazza; but
later years she's gone with 'em to waterin' places in Europe. Leastwise
that's what folks _say_, though where they'll find any more water than
they can here gets me. You know how some folks is. The fishin' 's
always better somewheres else. Yes," continued Mrs. Lem sagely, "we
don't know what we're doin' when we're envyin' folks. There's a
skeleton in most family closets. Most everybody's got somethin' to
contend with. I used to think," she lowered her voice, "that the
Creator sent 'em for our good. Thinkright says not; so I humor him, and
I hope it won't be visited on me. I apologize reg'lar in my prayers at
night. It's jest as well to be on the safe side."

Sylvia's grave little mouth broke into a sudden smile, but her eyes
were wistful.

"I should love to believe as my cousin does," she answered. "He said we
must judge everything by the fruits, and he is so good, so good."

"Yes, Thinkright's fruits is all right," agreed Mrs. Lem, squeezing out
her dishcloth. "He ain't any feeble critter either, I tell you. When
Judge Trent's here and somethin' goes wrong, and he scowls under them
brows o' his, I often feel like sayin' to him, 'Thinkright ain't even
afraid of his Creator; and I guess he ain't goin' to care for a few
scowls o' _yours_.' Judge Trent gees and haws some, but he always has
to come around if Thinkright's sure he's right. There ain't only one
thing that man's afraid of, and that's doin' wrong; and though you
hain't seen so very much o' the world yet, you'll find out that's quite
an ovation in the way o' lookin' at things."

Sylvia's brain made a vain grasp for the word Mrs. Lem was trying to
use. Two days afterward when she was out on the basin in Thinkright's
rowboat "innovation" came to relieve her bewilderment.

Minty's lean, strong arms had often rowed her about the little salt
lake, but Sylvia was ambitious to be her own boatman; and this
afternoon she was practicing by herself, catching crabs and splashing,
laughing at her own awkwardness until, breathing fast, her pale cheeks
pink from exertion, she pulled in her oars and floated on the blue
ripples, looking at the full green of leafy boughs among the sombre
richness of the evergreens, and listening to the spring gladness of the
robin's songs.

It was all very lovely. The Tide Mill only refused to be cheered.
Silent, enduring, wrapped in memories, it stood gray and