cabbages, only it seems awful to call anything so beautiful such a dreadful name. What was that name Mr. Partridge had for skunks? Or I guess it was polecats. Something funny, and yet it was refined—oh, I know, Pussy Polaris! Listen to the brook. Mercy, how tough these branches are! Isn't it singing a sweet little song? I think it's so restful after all the noise and talk and the rush of life nowadays, just to be quiet and listen to a sweet little song like this. We're none of us quiet enough, are we? There always seems to be something that just has to be done, and it's restful just to get away from everything and let nature talk to us. What do you think that little brook's saying to us? I think it's trying to tell us all sorts of secrets, don't you? It seems most as if you could hear the words, don't it? I'll help you carry these over to the house, and then I must fly. We're right in the middle of house cleaning. I don't like to leave Kate too long, unless I can help you some way? I'd love to, Evelyn!"
Poor old thing, with her muddy shoes and wilting wildflowers, excited because another woman is going to meet a man who loved her once. Evelyn kissed her swiftly, lightly, and she trailed away, tears in her happy eyes.
Hope was playing in the grass by the barn when Joe came home. He was so tall that even when she stood up she had to turn her face right back to look
