Maria said nothing more; but she mentally decided she had no time
to fool with a bird, when there were housekeeping and spring
sewing to do. As she recalled Abram's enthusiastic praise of the
singer, and had a whiff of the odour-laden air as she passed from
kitchen to spring-house, she was compelled to admit that it was a
temptation to go; but she finished her noon work and resolutely
sat down with her needle. She stitched industriously, her thread
straightening with a quick nervous sweep, learned through years
of experience; and if her eyes wandered riverward, and if she
paused frequently with arrested hand and listened intently, she
did not realize it. By two o'clock, a spirit of unrest that
demanded recognition had taken possession of her. Setting her
lips firmly, a scowl clouding her brow, she stitched on. By half
past two her hands dropped in her lap, Abram's new hickory shirt
slid to the floor, and she hesitatingly arose and crossed the
room to the closet, from which she took her overshoes, and set
them by the kitchen fire, to have them ready in case she wanted
them.

"Pshaw!" she muttered, "I got this shirt to finish this
afternoon. There's butter an' bakin' in the mornin', an' Mary
Jane Simms is comin' for a visit in the afternoon."

She returned to the window and took up the shirt, sewing with
unusual swiftness for the next half-hour; but by three she
dropped it, and opening the kitchen door, gazed toward the river.
Every intoxicating delight of early spring was in the air. The
breeze that fanned her cheek was laden with subtle perfume of
pollen and the crisp fresh odour of unfolding leaves. Curling
skyward, like a beckoning finger, went a spiral of violet and