l to her once more;
for love had entered again into her heart, and her starved soul was
feasting on its divine nourishment.

Old Lady Lloyd found a wealth of Mayflowers on the sandy hill. She
filled her basket with them, gloating over the loveliness which was to
give pleasure to Sylvia. When she got home she wrote on a slip of paper,
"For Sylvia." It was not likely anyone in Spencervale would know her
handwriting, but, to make sure, she disguised it, writing in round, big
letters like a child's. She carried her Mayflowers down to the hollow
and heaped them in a recess between the big roots of the old beech, with
the little note thrust through a stem on top.

Then the Old Lady deliberately hid behind the spruce clump. She had put
on her dark green silk on purpose for hiding. She had not long to
wait. Soon Sylvia Gray came down the hill with Mattie Spencer. When she
reached the bridge she saw the Mayflowers and gave an exclamation of
delight. Then she saw her name and her expression changed to wonder.
The Old Lady, peering through the boughs, could have laughed for very
pleasure over the success of her little plot.

"For me!" said Sylvia, lifting the flowers. "CAN they really be for me,
Mattie? Who could have left them here?"

Mattie giggled.

"I believe it was Chris Stewart," she said. "I know he was over at
Avonlea last night. And ma says he's taken a notion to you--she knows
by the way he looked at you when you were singing night before last. It
would be just like him to do something queer like this--he's such a shy
fellow with the girls."

Sylvia frowned a little. She did not like Mattie's expressions, but
she did like Mayflowers, and she did not dislike Chris Stewart, who had
seemed to her merely a nice, modest, country boy. She lifted the flowers
and buried her face in them.

"Anyway, I'm much obliged to the giver, whoever he or she is," she said
merrily. "There's nothing I love like Mayflowers. Oh, how sweet they
are!"

When they had passed the Old Lady emerged from her lurking place,
flushed with triumph. It did not vex her that Sylvia should think Chris
Stewart had given her the flowers; nay, it was all the better, since she
would be the less likely to suspect the real donor. The main thing was
that Sylvia should have the delight of them. That quite satisfied the
Old Lady, who went back to her lonely house with the cockles of her
heart all in a glow.

It soon was a matter of gossip in Spencervale that