nvoluntary exclamation of pleasure
escaped her as her eyes fell upon the little, old-fashioned flower garden
beneath it. The act and the exclamation for the moment disarmed
Euphrasia.

"They were Sarah Austen's--Mrs. Vane's," she explained, "just as she
planted them the year she died. I've always kept 'em just so."

"Mrs. Vane must have loved flowers," said Victoria.

"Loved 'em! They were everything to her--and the wild flowers, too. She
used to wander off and spend whole days in the country, and come back
after sunset with her arms full."

"It was nature she loved," said Victoria, in a low voice.

"That was it--nature," said Euphrasia. "She loved all nature. There
wasn't a living, creeping thing that wasn't her friend. I've seen birds
eat out of her hand in that window where you're settin', and she'd say to
me, 'Phrasie, keep still! They'd love you, too, if they only knew you,
but they're afraid you'll scrub 'em if you get hold of them, the way you
used to scrub me.'"

Victoria smiled--but it was a smile that had tears in it. Euphrasia
Cotton was standing in the shaft of sunlight at the other window, staring
at the little garden.

"Yes, she used to say funny things like that, to make you laugh when you
were all ready to cry. There wasn't many folks understood her. She knew
every path and hilltop within miles of here, and every brook and spring,
and she used to talk about that mountain just as if it was alive."

Victoria caught her breath.

"Yes," continued Euphrasia, "the mountain was alive for her. 'He's angry
to-day, Phrasie. That's because, you lost your temper and scolded
Hilary.' It's a queer thing, but there have been hundreds of times since
when he needed scoldin' bad, and I've looked at the mountain and held my
tongue. It was just as if I saw her with that half-whimsical,
half-reproachful expression in her eyes, holding up her finger at me. And
there were other mornings when she'd say, 'The mountain's lonesome today,
he wants me.' And I vow, I'd look at the mountain and it would seem
lonesome. That sounds like nonsense, don't it?" Euphrasia demanded, with
a sudden sharpness.

"No," said Victoria, "it seems very real to me."

The simplicity, the very ring of truth, and above all the absolute lack
of self-consciousness in the girl's answer sustained the spell.

"She'd go when the mountain called her, it didn't make any difference
whether it was raining--rain never appeared to do her any hurt. Nothi