"Whatever can she do with all that green stuff?" she thought. "She's
carried in enough to trim the 'Piscopal church twice over."

At last she shared her perplexity with Marty.

"Marty," said she one day, "have you ever seen Mrs. Philbrick come into
the house without somethin' green in her hands? What do you suppose she's
goin' to do with it all?"

"Lord knows," answered Marty. "I've been a speckkerlatin' about that very
thing myself. They can't be a brewin' beer this time o' year; but I see
her yesterday with her hands full o' pyroly."

"I wish you would make an errand in there, Marty," said Mrs. White, "and
see if you can any way find out what it's all for. She's carried in pretty
near a grove of pine-trees, I should say."

The willing Marty went, and returned with a most surprising tale. Every
room was wreathed with green vines. There were evergreen trees in boxes;
the window-seats were filled with pots of green things growing; waving
masses of ferns hung down from brackets on the walls.

"I jest stood like a dumb critter the minnit I got in," said Marty. "I
didn't know whether I wuz in the house or out in the woods, the whole
place smelled o' hemlock so, an' looked so kind o' sunny and shady all ter
oncet.--I jest wished Steve could see it. He'd go wild," added the
unconsciously injudicious Marty.

Mrs. White's face darkened instantly.