e. They also said something about
the darling coming to see his aunties. Then there ensued the softest
chorus of lady-laughter, as if at some hidden joke.

"Come in, Eudora dear," said Amelia Lancaster. "Yes, come in, Eudora
dear," said Anna Lancaster. "Yes, come in, Eudora dear," said Sophia
Willing.

Sophia looked much older than her sisters, but with that exception the
resemblance between all three was startling. They always dressed exactly
alike, too, in silken fabric of bluish lavender, like myrtle blossoms.
Some of the poetical souls in the village called the Lancaster sisters
"The ladies in lavender."

There was an astonishing change in the treatment of the blue and white
bundle when the sisters and Eudora were in the stately old sitting-room,
with its heavy mahogany furniture and its white-wainscoted calls. Amelia
simply tossed the bundle into a corner of the sofa; then the sisters all
sat in a loving circle around Eudora.

"Are you sure you are not utterly worn out, dear?" asked Amelia,
tenderly; and the others repeated the question in exactly the same tone.
The Lancaster sisters were not pretty, but all had charming expressions
of gentleness and a dignified good-will and loving kindness. Their blue
eyes beamed love at Eudora, and it was as if she sat encircled in a
soul-ring of affection.

She responded, and her beautiful face glowed with tenderness and
pleasure, and something besides, which was as the light of victory.

"I am not in the least tired, thank you, dears," she replied. "Why
should I be tired? I am very strong."

Amelia murmured something about such hard work.

"I never thought it would be hard work taking care of a baby," replied
Eudora, "and especially such a very light baby."

Something whimsical crept into Eudora's voice; something whimsical crept
into the love-light of the other women's eyes. Again a soft ripple of
mirth swept over them.

"Especially a baby who never cries," said Amelia.

"No, he never does cry," said Eudora, demurely.

They laughed again. Then Amelia rose and left the room to get the
tea-things. The old serving-woman who had lived with them for many years
was suffering from rheumatism, and was cared for by her daughter in the
little cottage across the road from the Lancaster house. Her husband and
grandson were the man and boy at work in the grounds. The three sisters
took care of themselves and their house with the elegant ease and lack
of fluster of gentlewom