She smiled in amused reminiscence of the secret tears she had wept

over absurd things--of the funerals held for birds found dead--of

the "Three Grains of Corn" poem which, when a child, elicited from

her howls of anguish.

Little golden flashes of recollection lighted the idle path as her

thoughts wandered along hazy ways which led back to her own nursery

days; and she rested there, in memory, dreaming through the

stillness of the afternoon.

She missed the rattle and noise of New York. It was a little too

tranquil in Fort Greene Place; yet, when she listened intently,

through the city's old-fashioned hush, very far away the voices of

the great seaport were always audible--a ceaseless harmony of river

whistles, ferry-boats signalling on the East River, ferry-boats on

the North River, perhaps some mellow, resonant blast from the bay,

where an ocean liner was heading for the Narrows. Always the

street's stillness held that singing murmur, vibrant with deep

undertones from dock and river and the outer sea.

Strange spicy odours, too, sometimes floated inland from the sugar

wharves, miles away under the Heights, to mingle with the scent of

lilac and iris in quiet, sunny backyards where whitewashed fences

reflected the mid-day glare, and cats dozed in strategical

positions on grape trellis and tin roofs of extensions, prepared

for war or peace, as are all cats always, at all times.

"Celia!"

Celia Craig looked up tranquilly.

"Has anybody darned Paige's stockings?"

"No, she hasn't, Honey-bell. Paige and Marye must keep their

stockings da'ned. I never could do anything fo' myse'f, and I

won't have my daughters brought up he'pless."

Ailsa glanced humorously across at her sister-in-law.

"You sweet thing," she said, "you can do anything, and you know it!"

"But I don't like to do anything any mo' than I did befo' I had

to," laughed Celia Craig; and suddenly checked her mirth, listening

with her pretty close-set ears.

"That is the do'-bell," she remarked, "and I am not dressed."

"It's almost too early for anybody to call," said Ailsa tranquilly.

But she was wrong, and when, a moment later, the servant came to

announce Mr. Berkley, Ailsa regarded her sister-in-law in pink

consternation.

"I did not ask him," she said. "We scarcely exchanged a dozen

words. He merely said he'd like to call--on you--and now he's done

it, Celia!"

Mrs. Craig calmly instructed the servant to say that they were at

home, and the servant withdrew.




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