Well, of all things!  There was old Mr. Welles, coming towards her. He must be out taking a walk too.  How slowly he went!  And kept looking up the way she and Aunt Hetty had, at the sky and the mountains.  He was quite close now.  Why . . . why, he didn’t know she was there.  He had gone right by her and never even saw her and yet had been so close she could see his face plainly.  He must have been looking very hard at the mountains.  But it wasn’t hard the way he was looking, it was soft.  How soft his face had looked, almost quivery, almost. . . .  But that was silly to think of . . . almost as though he felt like crying.  And yet all shining and quiet, too, as if he’d been in church.

Well, it was a little bit like being in church, when you could see the twilight come down very slow like this, and settle on the tree-tops and then down through them towards you.  You always felt as though it was going to do something to you when it got to you; something peaceful, like old Aunt Hetty.

She was at her own front path now, it was really almost dark.  Mother was playing the piano.  But not for either of the boys.  It was grown-up music she was playing.  Elly hesitated on the flagged stones.  Maybe she was playing for Mr. Marsh again.  She advanced slowly.  Yes, there he was, sitting on the door-step, across the open door, leaning back his head, smoking, sometimes looking out at the sunset, and sometimes looking in towards the piano.

Elly made a wide circuit under the apple-trees, and went in the side-door.  Toucle was only just setting the table.  Elly would have plenty of time to get off her rubber boots, look up her old felt slippers, and put them on before supper time.  Gracious!  Her stockings were wet.  She’d have to change them, too.  She’d just stay upstairs till Mr. Marsh went away.  She didn’t feel to talk to him.

* * * * *

When out of her window she saw him step back across the grass to Mr. Welles’ house, Elly came downstairs at once.  The light in the living-room made her blink, after all that outdoor twilight and the indoor darkness of her room upstairs.

Mother was still at the piano, her hands on the keys, but not playing.  At the sight of her, Elly’s heart filled and brightened.  Her busy, busy thoughts stopped for the first time that day.  She felt as you do when you’ve been rowing a boat a long time and finally, almost where you want to go, you stop and let her slide in on her own movement, quiet and soft and smooth, and reach out your hand to take hold of the landing-place.  Elly reached out her arm and put it around Mother’s neck.  She stood perfectly quiet.  There wasn’t any need to be anything but quiet now you’d got to where you were going.

She had been out on the rim of the wheel, all around and around it, and up and down the spokes.  But now she was at the center where all the spokes ended.