Lady Lloyd ever since the day, ten years before, when she had
found him crying in the woods with a cut foot and had taken
him into her house, and bathed and bound the wound, and given
him ten cents to buy candy at the store. The Old Lady went
without supper that night because of it, but Chris never knew
that.

The Old Lady thought it a most beautiful June. She no longer
hated the new days; on the contrary, she welcomed them.

"Every day is an uncommon day now," she said jubilantly to
herself--for did not almost every day bring her a glimpse of
Sylvia? Even on rainy days the Old Lady gallantly braved
rheumatism to hide behind her clump of dripping spruces and
watch Sylvia pass. The only days she could not see her were
Sundays; and no Sundays had ever seemed so long to Old Lady
Lloyd as those June Sundays did.

One day the egg pedlar had news for her.

"The music teacher is going to sing a solo for a collection
piece to-morrow," he told her.

The Old Lady's black eyes flashed with interest.

"I didn't know Miss Gray was a member of the choir," she said.

"Jined two Sundays ago. I tell you, our music is something
worth listening to now. The church'll be packed to-morrow, I
reckon--her name's gone all over the country for singing. You