pure blue sky. The prospect recalled to her irresistibly another sunlit
morning, a year ago, when she had stood in the doorway of her own
kitchen, and surveyed a scene not unlike this; it might have been with
the same carolling robins, the same trees, the same azure segment of
the tranquil, speckless dome. Then she was looking out upon surroundings
novel and strange to her, among which she must make herself at home as
best she could. But at least the ground was secure under her feet; at
least she had a home, and a word from her lips could summon her husband
out, to stand beside her with his arm about her, and share her buoyant,
hopeful joy in the promises of spring.

To think that that was only one little year ago--the mere revolution of
four brief seasons! And now--!

Sister Soulsby, wiping her hands on her apron, came briskly out upon
the stoop. Some cheerful commonplace was on her tongue, but a glance at
Alice's wistful face kept it back. She passed an arm around her waist
instead, and stood in silence, looking at the elms.

"It brings back memories to me--all this," said Alice, nodding her head,
and not seeking to dissemble the tears which sprang to her eyes.

"The men will be down in a minute, dear," the other reminded her.
"They'd nearly finished packing before I put the biscuits in the oven.
We mustn't wear long faces before folks, you know."

"Yes, I know," murmured Alice. Then, with a sudden impulse, she turned
to her companion. "Candace," she said fervently, "we're alone here for
the moment; I must tell you that if I don't talk gratitude to you, it's
simply and solely because I don't know where to begin, or what to say.