"Giggot" set them both off again--and then Lydia--stumbling, laughing,
and often corrected, said her lesson.

By the time she was fairly perfect, and the old man had straightened
himself again under his load--a veritable "good shepherd," glorified by
the evening light--they parted with a friendly nod, glad to have met and
sure to meet again.

"I'll come and see Bessie soon," she said gently, as she moved on.

"Aye. Yo'll be varra welcome."

She stepped forward briskly, gained the high road, and presently saw in
front of her a small white house, recently built, and already embowered
in a blossoming garden. Lilacs sent their fragrance to greet her;
rhododendrons glowed through the twilight, and a wild-cherry laden with
bloom reared its white miracle against the walls of the house.

Lydia stood at the gate devouring the tree with her eyes. The blossom
had already begun to drop. "Two days more"--she said to herself,
sighing--"and it'll be gone--till next year. And it's been out such a
little, little while! I seem hardly to have looked at it. It's horrible
how short-lived all the beautiful things are."

"Lydia!" A voice called from an open window.

"Yes, mother."

"You're dreadfully late, Lydia! Susan and I have finished supper long
ago."