glare of white. In
summer a trumpet-vine draped the ugly little piazza which Emmy's
"art-needle work" had helped build, and which she and her mother admired
with simple hearts. The big burr oak and the maples hid the house from
the road, but the grassy knoll in front of the house was bare, and from
this vantage-ground one could see the shallow curve of whitish-brown
where the village street climbed the hill, the chimneys of the houses
below, and, afar off, the trains roaring through the prairies. All the
village was interested in the railway, but Emmy had an especial and
intimate interest because her sweetheart was the local agent. He had
been her sweetheart during five years, in any one of which he would have
been proud and glad to marry her; yet this was the fifth year of their
betrothal, and Emmy was drearily reflecting that they were no nearer the
chance to spend their lives together the fifth than the first.

Emmy was hanging out clothes. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, but
she had just brought out the large basket and was pinning the garments
to the line, while Virginia, her sister, a little girl in short skirts
and a blue checked apron, helped with the less cumbrous stockings and
handkerchiefs. The child was pretty. She had a fresh color and curly
yellow hair. Emmy's hair was black, and twisted in a braid about a
shapely head. It shone like silk. But her eyes were gray, soft, and
liquid. She was slender, with a youthful litheness in her motions, and
her white arms flashed as they moved backward and forward in her work.
The sleeves of her blue gown were rolled up; the gown itself was plainly
her work-a-day garb, but there was a white lawn tie at her neck and the
gown was both neat and becoming; in short, she was an attractive little
creature who did not neglect her looks even of a wash-day.

The widow Darter sat on the piazza in a large rocking-chair. She rocked.
As she rocked, she moaned piteously. At intervals she changed the
sibilant moan into a hollow groaning sound. "Oh dear! _Oh_ dear! Oh
dear, oh dear, oh dear!" wailed the widow. "Um-m! um-m! um-m-m-m!"

The little girl flung a frown of impatience over her shoulder. "I don't
see why mamma makes such an _awful_ racket!" she snapped.

"She suffers," said Emmy.

"Well, she needn't holler so if she does," cried Virginia, rebelliously.
"I know she wouldn't let _me_ holler when I stubbed my toe. It hurt
awful, too!"

Emmy said nothing.

"Say, are yo