There are on the Green Valley calendar many red-letter days beside the
regularly recurring national holidays, but lilac time, or Lilac Sunday,
is Green Valley's very own glad day. It is in the spring what
Thanksgiving is in the fall and wanderers who can not get home for
Thanksgiving and Christmas ease their homesick hearts with promises of
lilac time in the old town.

On this particular Lilac Sunday, Nan, radiant and dressed in the sort
of clothes that only Nan knew how to buy and wear, was on her way to
church. She was early and decided to pass the Churchill place. She
always did at lilac time, for then it was fairly embedded in fragrance
and flowery glory. She had cut the blooms from her own bushes and sent
them on. She carried only a few of her most perfect sprays. She saw
that the Churchill gardens too had been trimmed but plenty of beauty
remained.

She stopped a moment to admire the wonderful old red-brick house
glowing through the tender greens of spring. Her eyes drank in its
beauty and then fell on two huge perfect lilac plumes on the bush
nearest her. They were larger and lovelier than her own.

With a little smile Nan reached out to gather them. She broke off the
first and was about to gather the other when Cynthia's son came slowly
and laughingly from around the bush.

"Let me get it for you. You will soil your glove."

Nan was startled and unaccountably embarrassed. She flushed with
something like annoyance.