And so about four o’clock the twain started for the house of Mrs. Markham, who saw them coming and welcomed them warmly.  She was always glad to see Mrs. Jones, and she was doubly glad to-day, for it seemed to her that some trouble had come upon her which made neighborly sympathy and neighborly intercourse more desirable than ever.  Added to this, there was in her heart an unconfessed pride in Ethelyn and a desire to show her off.  “Miss Jones was not going to stir home a step till after supper,” she said, as that lady demurred at laying off her bonnet.  “She had got to stay and see Richard; besides that, they were going to have waffles and honey, with warm gingerbread.”

Nobody who had once tested them, could withstand Mrs. Markham’s waffles and gingerbread.  Mrs. Jones certainly could not; and when Eunice went up for Ethelyn, that worthy woman was rocking back and forth in a low rocking-chair, her brass thimble on her finger and Tim’s shirt-sleeve in progress of making; while Melinda, in her pretty brown merino and white collar, with her black hair shining like satin, sat in another rocking-chair, working at the bit of tatting she chanced to have in her pocket.  Ethelyn did not care to go down; it was like stepping into another sphere leaving her own society for that of the Joneses; but there was no alternative, and with a yawn she started up and began smoothing her hair.

“This wrapper is well enough,” she said, more to herself, than Eunice, who was still standing by the door looking at her.

Eunice did not think the wrapper well enough.  It was pretty, she knew, but not as pretty as the dresses she had seen hanging in Ethelyn’s closet when she arranged the room that morning; so she said, hesitatingly:  “I wish you wouldn’t wear that down.  You were so handsome yesterday in the black gown, with them red earrings and pin, and your hair brushed up, so.”

Ethelyn liked to look well, even here in Olney, and so the wrapper was laid aside, the beautiful brown hair was wound in heavy coils about the back of the head, and brushed back from her white forehead after a fashion which made her look still younger and more girlish than she was.  A pretty plaid silk, with trimmings of blue, was chosen for to-day, Eunice going nearly wild over the short jaunty basque, laced at the sides and the back.  Eunice had offered to stay and assist at her young mistress’ toilet, and as Ethelyn was not unaccustomed to the office of waiting-maid, she accepted Eunice’s offer, finding, to her surprise, that the coarse red fingers, which that day had washed and starched her linen, were not unhandy even among the paraphernalia of a Boston lady’s toilet.

“You do look beautiful,” Eunice said, standing back to admire Ethelyn, when at last she was dressed.  “I have thought Melinda Jones handsome, but she can’t hold a candle to you, nor nobody else I ever seen, except Miss Judge Miller, in Camden.  She do act some like you, with her gown dragglin’ behind her half a yard.”