assented. If Burt's business absorbed him like this,
she must learn to take it philosophically.

"What a pretty place, Burt! Do see those wonderful elms!"

Byrnton proved to be an old-fashioned village, which had had the good
fortune to be remodelled without being modernized. Along the main street
many of the houses were square, prim little boxes, with front yards
bright with sweet williams, marigolds, and candytuft; these had an iron
fence around the garden, and, invariably, shutters at the front door. An
occasional house stood flush with the brick or flagged sidewalk; in that
case there were snowy curtains at the window, and a glimpse of
hollyhocks at the back. The newer houses could be distinguished by the
wide, open spaces around them; the late comers had not planned their
homes to command the village street, and neighbors, as an older
generation had done, but these twentieth century models did not begin
until one had left the little railway station well behind.

"What a homely, homey place," said Anne, noting everything with the eye
of an artist. "I don't see how you could forget it, if you have an aunt
living here."

"That's the question," answered Burt. "Have I an aunt living here? She
may be in California; however, in that case, the key will be under the
mat."

Anne continued to look about her, with sparkling eyes. "If Aunt Milly
had lived in a place like this, I'd be there yet," she told him. "The
factories spoiled the place for me, but they made business good for
Uncle Andy and the boys, and Aunt Milly likes the bustle, she'd think
this was too quiet.--Isn't it queer how people manage to get what they
want--in time?"

"It is, indeed," smiled Burt. "There, Nan, that low white cottage at the
very end, the last before you come to open fields. That's Aunt Susan's."

They quickened their pace; Anne was conscious of an intense wish that
Aunt Susan might be home. She wanted to see the inside of the white
house, bungalow, it might almost be called, if one did not associate
bungalows with stucco or stained shingles. This cottage was of white
wood, with the regulation green blinds. There was an outside chimney of
red bricks; a pathway of red bricks in the old herringbone pattern led
up to the front door, with its shining brass knocker. A row of white
foxgloves stood sentinel before the front of the house, on each side the
entrance, their pointed spires coming well above the window-sills;
before them the dark fol