and was of pine wood white from scrubbing; the other
stood on a blue rag rug by the eastern windows, and was covered by a
fringed tablecloth in white and blue. Near the outer door, with a window
above it, was a white-enamelled sink in a bright frame of hanging small
utensils.

The sunlight twinkled here and there on a polished surface, and flung a
trembling bright reflection on the ceiling from the brass faucets of the
sink. A clock on the wall struck seven.

As the last stroke sounded, Julia Studdiford quietly opened the hall
door and stepped into the kitchen. She softly closed the door behind
her, and went to another door, at which she paused for a few seconds
with her head bent as if listening. Evidently satisfied that no one
stirred in the bedroom beyond the door, she set briskly if noiselessly
about her preparations for breakfast.

These involved the tying on of a crisp checked apron, and various
negotiations with a large enamelled coffee pot, an egg, and the dark
grounds that sent a heartening odour of coffee through the room. Bread
was sliced and trimmed for toast with delightful evenness and swiftness,
a double boiler of oatmeal was lifted from the fireless cooker, and the
ice box made to furnish more eggs and a jar of damp, firm butter.

It was while making a little journey to the back porch for milk and
cream that the housekeeper first wavered in her swift routine. Below the
back steps lay a little city garden, so lovely in the strengthening
March sunlight that she must set her bottles down on the step, and run
down for a whiff of the fragrance of climbing roses, just beginning to
bloom, of bridal-wreath and white lilac. Cobwebs, caught from bush to
wet bush, sparkled with jewels; a band of brown sparrows flew away from
a dripping faucet, and a black cat, crouching on the crosspieces of the
low fence, rose, yawned, and vanished silently. The wall was almost
entirely hidden by vines, principally rose vines, which flung long arms
in the air. Presently a woman in the next yard parted these vines, to
look over and say pleasantly:

"Good-mornin', Mis' Studdiford! I's just looking over an' _dee_-spairin'
of ever gettin' my backyard to look like yours! It does smell like one
big bo'quet mornin's like this!"

"Oh, well, there are so many of us to fuss with it," said the young
woman addressed, cheerfully. "My aunt and my cousins are nearly as crazy
about flowers as I am, and the other day--that warm day, you kno