Chris Stewart was
leaving Mayflowers at the beech hollow for the music teacher every other
day. Chris himself denied it, but he was not believed. Firstly, there
were no Mayflowers in Spencervale; secondly, Chris had to go to Carmody
every other day to haul milk to the butter factory, and Mayflowers grew
in Carmody, and, thirdly, the Stewarts always had a romantic streak in
them. Was not that enough circumstantial evidence for anybody?

As for Sylvia, she did not mind if Chris had a boyish admiration for
her and expressed it thus delicately. She thought it very nice of him,
indeed, when he did not vex her with any other advances, and she was
quite content to enjoy his Mayflowers.

Old Lady Lloyd heard all the gossip about it from the egg pedlar, and
listened to him with laughter glimmering far down in her eyes. The egg
pedlar went away and vowed he'd never seen the Old Lady so spry as she
was this spring; she seemed real interested in the young folk's doings.

The Old Lady kept her secret and grew young in it. She walked back to
the Mayflower hill as long as the Mayflowers lasted; and she always hid
in the spruces to see Sylvia Gray go by. Every day she loved her more,
and yearned after her more deeply. All the long repressed tenderness of
her nature overflowed to this girl who was unconscious of it. She was
proud of Sylvia's grace and beauty, and sweetness of voice and laughter.
She began to like the Spencer children because they worshipped Sylvia;
she envied Mrs. Spencer because the latter could minister to Sylvia's
needs. Even the egg pedlar seemed a delightful person because he brought
news of Sylvia--her social popularity, her professional success, the
love and admiration she had won already.

The Old Lady never dreamed of revealing herself to Sylvia. That, in her
poverty, was not to be thought of for a moment. It would have been very
sweet to know her--sweet to have her come to the old house--sweet to
talk to her--to enter into her life. But it might not be. The Old Lady's
pride was still far stronger than her love. It was the one thing she had
never sacrificed and never--so she believed--could sacrifice.

II. The June Chapter

There were no Mayflowers in June; but now the Old Lady's garden was
full of blossoms and every morning Sylvia found a bouquet of them by the
beech--the perfumed ivory of white narcissus, the flame of tulips, the
fairy branches of bleeding-heart, the pink-and-snow of little,
thor