and beautiful. If your face would grow a little fuller and those lines
would go away, you'd be lovely!"

"You little pig!" laughed Mrs. Comstock. "Any one would think you would
be satisfied with having a splinter new mother, without setting up a
kick on her looks, first thing. Greedy!"

"That is a good word," said Elnora. "I admit the charge. I am greedy
over every wasted year. I want you young, lovely, suitably dressed and
enjoying life like the other girls' mothers."

Mrs. Comstock laughed softly as she pushed back her sunbonnet so that
shrubs and bushes beside the way could be scanned closely. Elnora walked
ahead with a case over her shoulder, a net in her hand. Her head was
bare, the rolling collar of her lavender gingham dress was cut in a V
at the throat, the sleeves only reached the elbows. Every few steps she
paused and examined the shrubbery carefully, while Mrs. Comstock was
watching until her eyes ached, but there were no dandelions in the pail
she carried.

Early June was rioting in fresh grasses, bright flowers, bird songs, and
gay-winged creatures of air. Down the footpath the two went through the
perfect morning, the love of God and all nature in their hearts. At
last they reached the creek, following it toward the bridge. Here Mrs.
Comstock found a large bed of tender dandelions and stopped to fill
her pail. Then she sat on the bank, picking over the greens, while she
listened to the creek softly singing its June song.

Elnora remained within calling distance, and was having good success. At
last she crossed the creek, following it up to a bridge. There she began