st windows of the dining-room where
Elizabeth sat by the fire, she could see the orchard and the
out-houses. They were all transformed, the former into a fairy forest
of glass, the latter into crystal palaces. Even the old pump had been
changed into a column of silver.

The breeze, dancing up over The Dale, set the fairy forest of glass
swaying, with a silken rustle. On every swinging branch millions of
jewels flashed in the sunlight. With a soft crashing sound some tree
would let fall its priceless burden in a dazzling rain of diamonds.
Crash! and the silver roof of the barn slid down into the yard,
collapsing in a flood of opals. The whole world seemed unreal and
unstable, toppling to pieces and vanishing in the rising mist.

To Elizabeth it seemed like her new radiant world of usefulness, which
she had been building on her journey from Toronto. It was falling to
pieces about her ears, before the breath of her aunt's disapproval.

The glorious freshness of the breeze, the dazzling blue of the sky, and
the quivering, flashing radiance of the bejeweled world set all her
city-stifled nerves tingling to be up and away over the wind-swept
fields and the wet lanes. But she sat in the old rocker by the
dining-room fire and clasped her hands close in her efforts to keep
back the tears. This homecoming had been so sadly different from all
others. She had not been welcome. The Dale and every dear old
familiar nook and corner of the surrounding fields had seemed to open
their arms to her and Eppie when John Coulson brought them out from
Cheemaun three days before. Her father had received them with
unquestioning joy. Mary and the boys had been hilarious in their
welcome. Her aunt alone had met her with a greeting tempered by
doubts. Notwithstanding the years of worldly success to Elizabeth's
credit, Miss Gordon still lived in some fear lest the wild streak
reappear. She had reserved her judgment, however, until her niece
should explain, and the opportunity for a quiet talk had come upon the
third morning after their arrival. As soon as breakfast was over, and
the early morning duties attended to, Miss Gordon took her
embroidery--Mary did the darning now--to the dining-room fire and
called Elizabeth to her.

The old stone house was very quiet. Sarah Emily's successor, a shy
little maid from an orphan home, was moving noiselessly about the
kitchen under Mary's able supervision. Jamie was far on the road to
Ch