to mature beauty and waking up all the
flowers on the hills and in the dales, when Eleanor one afternoon came
out to her aunt in the garden. A notable change had come over the
garden by this time; its comparatively barren-looking beds were all
rejoicing in gay bloom and sending up a gush of sweetness to the house
with every stir of the air that way. From the house to the river,
terrace below terrace sloped down, brimfull already of blossoms and
fragrance. The roses were making great preparations for their coming
season of festival; the mats which had covered some tender plants were
long gone. Tulips and hyacinths and polyanthuses and primroses were in
a flush of spring glory now; violets breathed everywhere; the
snowy-flowered gooseberry and the red-flowered currant, and berberry
with its luxuriant yellow bloom, and the almond, and a magnificent
magnolia blossoming out in the arms of its evergreen sister, with many
another flower less known to Eleanor, made the garden terraces a little
wilderness of loveliness and sweetness. Near the house some very fine
auriculas in pots were displaying themselves. In the midst of all this
Mrs. Caxton was busy, with one or two people to help her and work under
direction. Planting and training and seed-sowing were going on; and the
mistress of the place moved about among her floral subjects a very
pleasant representation of a rural queen, her niece thought. Few queens
have a more queenly presence than Mrs. Caxton had; and with a trowel in
hand just as much as if it were a sceptre. And few queens indeed carry
such a calm mind under such a calm brow. Eleanor sighed and smiled.

"Among your auriculas, aunty, as usual!"

"Among everything," said Mrs. Caxton. "There is a great deal to do.
Don't you want to help, Eleanor? You may plant gladiolus bulbs--or you
may make cuttings--or you may sow seeds. I can find you work."

"Aunty, I am going down to the village."

"O it is Wednesday afternoon!" said Mrs. Caxton. And she came close up
to her niece and kissed her, while one hand was full of bulbs and the
other held a trowel. "Well go, my dear. Not at peace yet, Eleanor?"--

There was so tender a tone in these last words that Eleanor could not
reply. She dashed away without making any answer; and all along the way
to Plassy she was every now and then repeating them to herself. "Not at
peace yet, Eleanor?"

She was in a tender mood this afternoon; the questions and remarks
addressed to the o