.

"If you won't mind coming to my house in the rain," said the man who
did not understand women--but Nanny wasn't listening. The setting sun
flared into a last widespread glory that bathed every grass blade in
Green Valley and in this strong and golden light Nan saw the 6:10
pulling in and Fanny Foster hurrying home. Jessup's delivery boy,
driving back from his last trip, was larruping his horse and careful
Ellen Nuby was taking in her clotheslines.

On the back porch of the Brownlee bungalow Jocelyn was shaking a white
tablecloth, for the Brownlees had supper early. Jocelyn flapped and
flapped, then folded the cloth neatly as she had seen Green Valley
matrons do. That done, she waited.

David Allan was coming home over the hills with his team and Jocelyn
was waiting till he came closer before she waved to him and greeted
him. All Green Valley knew of these sunset greetings and approved.

So now Nan, with a smile of understanding sympathy, watched and waited
too. She could almost see Jocelyn's happy, eager child face. David
slowly drew nearer. But after one careless look at the little figure
on the porch, his fine head drooped and he went on without a word and
left Jocelyn standing there.

From her tree shelter Nan could see the little city girl standing very
still, staring after David. Then slowly the little figure went down
the steps and into the back garden. There it stood motionless again,
staring into the fading sky as if seeking an explanation for David's
strange conduct.

But up on the hilltop Nanny beat her hands softly and cried out in pain
for Jocelyn. For Nanny knew her Green Valley and she knew that the
story of Jocelyn's morning ride with the minister in the Bates' ancient
carryall had already gone the rounds, even finding David in the furrows
of the fields. And now the big boy was worried and wretched and
perhaps angry at the little city girl whom he had so openly courted.

"Oh, dear!" Nanny began to speak her mind but stopped abruptly. For
how could she tell this young man from India that he had that morning
spoiled forever perhaps a lovely romance. She knew that he was
innocent, as innocent as Jocelyn. And she knew that Green Valley meant
no harm. It was nothing. And yet so often trouble, sorrow and
heartache start in just that kind of nothingness. Out of playful
little whirlwinds of careless laughter cruel storms are born.

When Cynthia's son turned to walk home with her Nan