“Of course he’s comin’ in,” sobbed Fanny.  “Andrew, you go—­”

But Andrew had already gone, unlocking the parlor door on his way.  “It’s your aunt Eva, Ellen,” he said as he passed.  “She’s come home cured, and your uncle Jim is out in the yard, and I’m goin’ to call him in.  I guess you’d better go out and see her.”

Chapter LX

Lloyd’s had been running for two months, and spring had fairly begun.  It was a very forward season.  The elms were leafed out, the cherry and peach blossoms had fallen, and the apple-trees were in full flower.  There were many orchards around Rowe.  The little city was surrounded with bowing garlands of tenderest white and rose, the well-kept lawns in the city limits were like velvet, and golden-spiked bushes and pink trails of flowering almond were beside the gates.  Lilacs also, flushed with rose, purpled the walls of old houses.  One morning Ellen, on her way to the factory, had for the first time that year a realization of the full presence of the spring.  All at once she knew the goddess to be there in her whole glory.

“Spring has really come,” she said to Abby.  As she spoke she jostled a great bush of white flowers, growing in a yard close to the sidewalk, and an overpowering fragrance, like a very retaliation of sweetness, came in her face.

“Yes,” said Abby; “it seems more like spring than it did last night, somehow!” Abby had gained flesh, and there was a soft color on her cheeks, so that she was almost pretty, as she glanced abroad with a sort of bright gladness and a face ready with smiles.  Maria also looked in better health than she had done in the winter.  She walked with her arm through Ellen’s.

Suddenly a carriage, driven rapidly, passed them, and Cynthia Lennox’s graceful profile showed like a drooping white flower in a window.

Sadie Peel came up to them with a swift run.  “Say!” she said, “know who that was?”

“We’ve got eyes,” replied Abby Atkins, shortly.

“Who said you hadn’t?  You needn’t be so up an’ comin’, Abby Atkins; I didn’t know as you knew they were married, that’s all.  I just heard it from Lottie Snell, whose sister works at the dressmaker’s that made the wedding fix.  Weddin’ fix!  My land!  Think of a weddin’ without a white dress and a veil!  All she had was a gray silk and a black velvet, and a black lace, and a travellin’-dress!”

Abby Atkins eyed the other girl sharply, her curiosity getting the better of her dislike.  “Who did she marry?” said she, shortly.  “I suppose she didn’t marry the black velvet, or the lace, or the travelling-dress.  That’s all you seem to think about.”

“I thought you didn’t know,” replied Sadie Peel, in a tone of triumph.  “They’ve kept it mighty still, and he’s been goin’ there so long, ever since anybody can remember, that they didn’t think it was anything more now than it had been right along.  Lyman Risley and Cynthia Lennox have just got married, and they’ve gone down to Old Point Comfort.  My land, it’s nice to have money, if you be half blind!”