“And what are your plans for to-morrow, girls?” she asked, just before they all went up-stairs, late in the evening.

“Sue and I to early ...”  Anna said, “then we get back to get breakfast by nine, and all the others to ten o’clock.”

“Well, will you girls call me?  I’ll go with you, and then before the others get home we can have everything done and the turkey in.”

“Yes, Mother,” was all that Anna said, but later she and Susan were almost ready to agree with Betts’ last remark that night, delivered from bed: 

“I bet to-morrow’s going to be the happiest Christmas we ever had!”

This was the beginning of happier days, for Mrs. Carroll visibly struggled to overcome her sorrow now, and Susan and Betsey tried their best to help her.  The three took long walks, in the wet wintry weather, their hats twisting about on their heads, their skirts ballooning in the gale.  By the middle of March Spring was tucking little patches of grass and buttercups in all the sheltered corners, the sunshine gained in warmth, the twilights lengthened.  Fruit blossoms scented the air, and great rain-pools, in the roadways, gave back a clear blue sky.

The girls dragged Mrs. Carroll with them to the woods, to find the first creamy blossoms of the trillium, and scented branches of wild lilac.  One Sunday they packed a lunch basket, and walked, boys and girls and mother, up to the old cemetery, high in the hills.  Three miles of railroad track, twinkling in the sun, and a mile of country road, brought them to the old sunken gate.  Then among the grassy paths, under the oaks, it was easy to find the little stone that bore Josephine’s name.

It was an April day, but far more like June.  There was a wonderful silence in the air that set in crystal the liquid notes of the lark, and carried for miles the softened click of cowbells, far up on the ridges.  Sunshine flooded buttercups and poppies on the grassy slopes, and where there was shade, under the oaks, “Mission bells” and scarlet columbine and cream and lavender iris were massed together.  Everywhere were dazzling reaches of light, the bay far below shone blue as a turquoise, the marshes were threaded with silver ribbons, the sky was high and cloudless.  Trains went by, with glorious rushes and puffs of rising, snowy smoke; even here they could hear the faint clang of the bell.  A little flock of sheep had come up from the valley, and the soft little noises of cropping seemed only to underscore the silence.

Mrs. Carroll walked home between Anna and Phil; Susan and Billy and the younger two engaged in spirited conversation on ahead.

“Mother said ‘Happiness comes back to us, doesn’t it, Nance!’” Anna reported that night.  “She said, ’We have never been happier than we have to-day!’”

“Never been so happy,” Susan said sturdily.  “When has Philip ever been such an unmitigated comfort, or Betts so thoughtful and good?”