brown house. Of course, she glanced over the fence at the roses and
lilacs, and she couldn't help seeing that they all looked sadly
neglected. By and by the weeds came, grew, and multiplied; and every
time she passed the gate her throat fairly choked in sympathy with her
old pets.

Evenings, she and Reuben spent very happily on the back stoop, talking
of their great good fortune in being able to live in such a fine large
house. Somehow they said more than usual about it this spring, and
Reuben often mentioned how glad he was that his wife didn't have to dig
in the garden any more; and Emily would reply that she, too, was glad
that he was having so easy a time. Then they would look down at the
little brown farmhouse and wonder how they ever managed to get along in
so tiny a place.

One day, in passing this same little house, Emily stopped a moment and
leaned over the gate, that she might gain a better view of her favorite
rosebush.

She evinced the same interest the next two mornings, and on the third
she timidly opened the gate and walked up the old path to the door. A
buxom woman with a big baby in her arms, and a bigger one hanging to her
skirts, answered her knock.

"How do you do, Mis' Gray. Won't you come in?" said she civilly, looking
mildly surprised.

"No, thank you--yes--I mean--I came to see you," stammered Emily
confusedly.