V

RAIN

From her dormer window, Anna Barly peered out at the wet, gray morning.
The ground was sopping, the trees black with the night's drenching. In
the orchard a sparrow sang an uncertain song; and she heard the
comfortable drip, drip, drip from the eaves. It was damp and fresh at
the window; the breeze, cold and fragrant after rain, made her shiver.
She drew her wrapper closer about her throat, and sat staring out
across the sodden lawn, with idle thoughts for company.

She thought that she was young, and that the world was old: that rain
belonged to youth. Old age should sit in the sun, but youth was best
of all in bad weather. "There's no telling where you are in the rain.
And there's no one spying, for every one's indoors, keeping dry." Yes,
youth is quite a person in the rain.

With slim, lazy fingers, she began to braid her long, fair hair. It
seemed to her that folks were always peering and prying, to make sure
that every one else was like themselves. "You're doing different than
what I did," they said.

Anna wanted to "do different." Yet she was without courage or wisdom.
And because she was sulky and heedless, Mrs. Ploughman called her Sara
Barly's rebellious daughter. As Mrs. Ploughman belonged to the
Methodist side of the town, Mrs. Tomkins was usually ready to disagree
with her. But on this occasion, all Mrs. Tomkins could think to say,