they all crowded to the front windows and watched from behind the
screens of green flowering things. It was very early in the
spring. Fairly hot days alternated with light frosts. The trees
were touched with sprays of rose and gold and gold-green, but the
wind still blew cold from the northern snows, and the occupant of
Eudora's ancient carriage was presumably wrapped well to shelter
it from harm. There was, in fact, nothing to be seen in the
carriage, except a large roll of blue and white, as Eudora
emerged from the yard and closed the iron gate of the tall fence
behind her.

Through this fence pricked the evergreen box, and the deep yard
was full of soft pastel tints of reluctantly budding trees and
bushes. There was one deep splash of color from a yellow bush in
full bloom.

Eudora paced down the sidewalk with a magnificent, stately gait.
There was something rather magnificent in her whole appearance.
Her skirts of old, but rich, black fabric swept about her long,
advancing limbs; she held her black-bonneted head high, as if
crowned. She pushed the cumbersome baby-carriage with no
apparent effort. An ancient India shawl was draped about her
sloping shoulders.

Eudora, as she passed the Glynn house, turned her face slightly,
so that its pure oval was evident. She was now a beauty in late
middle life. Her hair, of an indeterminate shade, swept in soft
shadows over her ears; her features were regular; her expression
was at once regal and gentle. A charm which was neither of youth
nor of age reigned in her face; her grace had surmounted with