have been so kind to her. Perhaps she will if
you speak to her. But don't worry about Bart;
that will wear itself out. All young girls must
have their love-affairs."

Jane's voice had lacked the ring of true sincerity
when she spoke about "wearing itself out," and
Martha had gone to her room more dissatisfied than
before. This feeling became all the more intense
when, the next day, from her window she watched
Bart tying on Lucy's hat, puffing out the big bow under
her chin, smoothing her hair from the flying strings.
Lucy's eyes were dancing, her face turned toward
Bart's, her pretty lips near his own. There was a
knot or a twist, or a collection of knots and twists,
or perhaps Bart's fingers bungled, for minutes passed
before the hat could be fastened to suit either of them.
Martha's head had all this time been thrust out of
the easement, her gaze apparently fixed on a birdcage
hung from a hook near the shutter.

Bart caught her eye and whispered to Lucy that
that "old spy-cat" was watching them; whereupon
Lucy faced about, waved her hand to the old nurse,
and turning quickly, raced up the orchard and out
of sight, followed by Bart carrying a shawl for them
to sit upon.

After that Martha, unconsciously, perhaps, to herself,
kept watch, so far as she could, upon their