"We can be as lavish as we like with the stumps now, mother, for
spring is coming," he said, as he sat down to his meal.

"I've been looking out more than usual this afternoon," she
replied. "There's hardly any snow left, and though the walking is
so bad I've been rather expecting your father before night. You
remember he said, when he went away in January, that he should be
back before the Mayflowers bloomed?"

It did not do any good to say: "Yes, mother, but the Mayflowers
have bloomed ten times since father went away." He had tried
that, gently and persistently when first her mind began to be
confused from long grief and hurt love, stricken pride and sick
suspense.

Instead of that, Ivory turned the subject cheerily, saying,
"Well, we're sure of a good season, I think. There's been a grand
snow-fall, and that, they say, is the poor man's manure. Rod and
I will put in more corn and potatoes this year. I shan't have to
work single-handed very long, for he is growing to be quite a
farmer."

"Your father was very fond of green corn, but he never cared for
potatoes," Mrs. Boynton said, vaguely, taking up her knitting. "I
always had great pride in my cooking, but I could never get your
father to relish my potatoes."

"Well, his son does, anyway," Ivory replied, helping himself
plentifully from a dish that held one of his mother's best
concoctions, potatoes minced fine and put together into the