eality
thinking, with pleasant anticipations, of the succotash. Now that he
was back in his old track at the shop, his appetite was better, and
he found himself actually dreaming about savory dishes like a boy.
Henry's pleasures in life were so few and simple that they had to go
a long way, and lap over onto his spiritual needs from his physical
ones.

Sylvia broke in upon his visions of succotash. She was straining her
eyes to see the road beyond the front yard. "What time is it?" she
asked. "Do you know?"

"It was half-past five by the kitchen clock."

"They ain't in sight yet." Sylvia stared and frowned at the distance.
"This house does set too far back," she said, impatiently.

"Now, Sylvia, I wouldn't give up a mite of this front yard."

"I'd give it all up if I could see folks go past. A woman wants to
see something out of the window and from the doorstep besides flowers
and box and trees."

Sylvia glared at the yard, which was beautiful. The box grew lustily,
framing beds of flowers and clusters of radiant bushes. There were
two perfectly symmetrical horse-chestnut-trees, one on each side of
the broad gravel walk. The yard looked like some wonderful map
wherein the countries were made of flowers, the design was so
charmingly artificial and prim.

"It's awful set, I think," said Sylvia. "I'd rather have flowers
growing where they want to instead of where they have to. And I never
did like box. Folks say it's unhealthy, too."

"It's been here for years, and the people who belonged here have
never been short-lived," said Henry. "I like it."

"I don't," said Sylvia. She looked at the road. "I don't see where
they can be."

"Oh, they'll be along soon. Don't worry, Sylvia."

"Well," said Sylvia, in a strident voice, "I'm going in and get
supper, and when it's ready we'll set down and eat it. I ain't going
to wait one minute. I'm just sick of this kind of work."

Sylvia got up, and her scissors dropped again onto the step. Henry
picked them up. "Here are your scissors," said he.

Sylvia took them and went into the house with a flounce. Henry heard
a door slam and dishes rattle. "She's all wrought up again," he
thought. He felt very tall as he pitied Sylvia. He was sorry for her,
but her distress over such a matter as the young folks' being late
seemed to him about as much to be taken seriously as the buzzing of a
bumblebee over a clump of lilies in the yard.

He was watching the bumblebee when he hear