which Ettie tended, separated the dwelling from the public road; and
the flowers more than anything else attracted Hannah's daughter. Calvin
talked with her infrequently, but a great deal of his silent attention
was directed at the child.

Already Lucy had a quality of appeal to which he watched Ettie respond.
The latter took a special pride in making Lucy as pretty as possible;
in the afternoon she would dress her in sheer white with a ribbon in
her hair. She spared Lucy many of the details of housework in which the
latter could have easily assisted her; and when Calvin protested she
replied that she was so accustomed to doing that it was easier for her
to go ahead.

Calvin's feelings were mixed. At first he had told himself that Lucy
would be, in a way, his daughter; he would bring her up as his own; and
in the end what he had would be hers, just as it should have been
Hannah's. However, his attitude was never any that might be recognized
as that of parenthood. He never grew completely accustomed to her
presence, she was always a subject of interest and speculation. He
continued to get pleasure from her slender graceful being and the
little airs of delicacy she assumed.

He was conscious, certainly, that Lucy was growing older--yet not so
fast as he--but he had a shock of surprise when she informed him that
she was fifteen. Calvin pinched her cheek, and, sitting on the porch,
heard her within issuing a peremptory direction to Ettie. The elder
made no reply and, he knew, did as Lucy wished. This disturbed him.
There wasn't a finer woman living than Ettie Stammark, and he didn't
purpose to have Lucy impudent to her. Lucy, he decided, was getting a
little beyond them. She was quick at her lessons, the Greenstream