at the death of her father, the Egyptologist, whose
obituary notice thrust aside the daily news by an ample column, had
decided to come back and spend her summers in the grandparents' house
where much of her childhood had been spent, she had looked forward
with infinite affection to this return to the tenderly remembered old
village which she had not seen for half a dozen years. The vision of
it, always in apple-blossom time, had used often to interpose between
her and yellow reaches of the Nile. She had been informed, no doubt,
in letters, of innovations at home, but had read, as became evident
afterwards, without bringing home to herself the meaning of these
communications, for it was with a shock she at last beheld them. There
had been in the village, as the image of it lived in her brain, one
modest store to which you went for everything. It was kept by a good,
simple man whose wife and children as often as he waited upon the
customers: all people with whom you in good country fashion talked
over the affairs of the country-side, crops, church-festival, change
of minister. In place of this now stood a large, showy building called
the Emporium. One Matthew Bray, from outside, had bought out the widow
of the old store-keeper, and enlarged the business as you might see.
From all over the county people came to trade there. There was no
longer the necessity to go by rail to the city to shop: here were
dress-stuffs, trimmings, fashion-books, a millinery department. In
reality the thing was not ill done, since it perfectly met a need, but
Celia stared at it in helpless grief, hurt as by hearing a familiar
melody bawled out of tune. Then she was driven past the new house--it
was still tri-colored--and her mind was made up about the Brays.

She loved many of the village people, with whom she had stood from
infancy in the simplest cordial relations. It hurt a little to
discover their pleasure in these changes, the mean ambitions, as it
seemed to Celia, which they were developing. She found it difficult to
be just, and pardon as natural their satisfaction in the growing
material prosperity brought about by the influx of people drawn by the
Emporium. The widow of the old store-keeper, upon the strength of it,
had opened an Ice-Cream Room. They loved the increased liveliness,
too. Celia could not blame them: her winters were lively, while theirs
were dull enough. But she came here for rest, the village of her love
had been ideall