until she had paid that visit. It was by no means an agreeable one,
for old Mrs. Woodward was exceedingly dull, and Helen felt that she
was called upon to make war upon dullness. However, it had occurred
to her to get her task out of the way at once, while she felt that
she ought to leave Arthur.

The visit proved to be quite as depressing as she had expected, for
it is sad to have to record that Helen, however sensitive to the
streamlet and the flowers, had not the least sympathy in the world
for an old woman who had a very sharp chin, who stared at one
through two pairs of spectacles, and whose conversation was about
her own health and the dampness of the springtime, besides the
dreariest gossip about Oakdale's least interesting people. Perhaps
it might have occurred to the girl that it is very forlorn to have
nothing else to talk about, and that even old Mrs. Woodward might
have liked to hear about some of the things in the forest, or to
have been offered the lily and the marigold. Unfortunately, however,
Helen did not think about any of that, but only moved restlessly
about in her chair and gazed around the ugly room. Finally when she
could stand it no more, she sprang up between two of Mrs. Woodward's
longest sentences and remarked that it was very late and a long way
home, and that she would come again some time.

Then at last when she was out in the open air, she drew a deep
breath and fled away to the woods, wondering what could be God's
reason for such things. It was not until she was half way up the
hillside that she could feel that the wind, which blew now upon her
forehead, had quite swept away the depression which had settled upon
her. She drank in the odors which blew from the woods, and began
singing to herself again, and looking out for Arthur.