leather buggy-top, and wasevidently very heavy.
Abby eyed it shrewdly. "If I am not mistaken," said she, "that is thevery carriage Eudora herself was wheeled around in when she was a baby.I am almost sure I have seen that identical carriage before. When wewere girls I used to go to the Yates house sometimes. Of course, it wasalways very formal, a little tea-party for Eudora, with her mother onhand, but I feel sure that I saw that carriage there one of those times.
"I suppose it cost a lot of money, in the time of it. The Yateses alwaysgot the very best for Eudora," said Julia. "And maybe Eudora goes aboutso little she doesn't realize how out of date the carriage is, but Ishould think it would be very heavy to wheel, especially if the baby isa good-sized one."
"It looks like a very large baby," said Ethel. "Of course, it is sorolled up we can't tell."
"Haven't you gone out and asked to see the baby?" said Abby.
"Would we dare unless Eudora Yates offered to show it?" said Julia, witha surprised air; and the others nodded assent. Then they all crowded tothe front windows and watched from behind the screens of green floweringthings. It was very early in the spring. Fairly hot days alternated withlight frosts. The trees were touched with sprays of rose and gold andgold-green, but the wind still blew cold from the northern snows, andthe occupant of Eudora's ancient carriage was presumably wrapped wellto shelter it from harm. There was, in fact, nothing to be seen in thecarriage, except a large roll of blue and white, as Eudora emerged fromthe yard and closed the iron gate of the tall fence behind her.
Through this fence pricked the evergreen box, and the deep yard was fullof soft pastel tints of reluctantly budding trees and bushes. There wasone deep splash of color from a yellow bush in full bloom.
Eudora paced down the sidewalk with a magnificent, stately gait. Therewas something rather magnificent in her whole appearance. Her skirts ofold, but rich, black fabric swept about her long, advancing limbs;she held her black-bonneted head high, as if crowned. She pushed thecumbersome baby-carriage with no apparent effort. An ancient India shawlwas draped about her sloping shoulders.
Eudora, as she passed the Glynn house, turned her face slightly, so thatits pure oval was evident. She was now a beauty in late middle life. Herhair, of an indeterminate shade, swept in soft shadows over her ears;her features were regular; her expression was at once regal and gentle.A charm which was neither of youth nor of age reigned in her face;her grace had surmounted with triumphant ease the slope of every year.Eudora passed out of sight with the baby-carriage, lifting her proudlady-head under the soft droop of the spring boughs; and her inspectors,whom she had not seen, moved back from the Glynn windows withexclamations of astonishment.
"I wonder," said Abby, "whether she will have that baby call her ma oraunty."
Meantime Eudora passed down the village street until she reached theLancaster house, about half a mile away on the same side. There dweltthe Misses Amelia and Anna Lancaster, who were about Eudora's age, anda widowed sister, Mrs. Sophia Willing, who was much older. The Lancasterhouse was also a colonial mansion, much after the fashion of Eudora's,but it showed signs of continued opulence. Eudora's, behind her treesand leafing vines, was gray for lack of paint. Some of the colonialornamental details about porches and roof were sloughing off or hadalready disappeared. The Lancaster house gleamed behind its grove ofevergreen trees as white and perfect as in its youth. The windows showedrich slants of draperies behind their green glister of old glass.
A gardener, with a boy assistant, was at work in the grounds when Eudoraentered. He touched his cap. He was an old man who had lived with theLancasters ever since Eudora could remember. He advanced toward her now."Sha'n't Tommy push--the baby-carriage up to the house for you, MissEudora?" he said, in his cracked old voice.
Eudora flushed slightly, and, as if in response, the old man flushed,also. "No, I thank you, Wilson," she said, and moved on.
The boy, who was raking dry leaves, stood gazing at them with a shrewd,whimsical expression. He was the old man's grandson.
"Is that a boy or a girl kid, grandpa?" he inquired, when the gardenerreturned.
"Hold your tongue!" replied the old man, irascibly. Suddenly he seizedthe boy by his two thin little shoulders with knotted old hands.
"Look at here, Tommy, whatever you know, you keep your mouth shet, andwhatever you don't know, you keep your mouth shet, if you know what'sgood for you," he said, in a fierce whisper.
The boy whistled and shrugged his shoulders loose. "You know I ain'tgoin' to tell tales, grandpa," he said, in a curiously manly fashion.
The old man nodded. "All right, Tommy. I don't believe you be, nuther,but you may jest as well git it through your head what's goin' to happenif you do."
"Ain't goin' to," returned the boy. He whistled charmingly as he rakedthe leaves. His whistle sounded like the carol of a bird.
Eudora pushed the carriage around to the side door, and immediatelythere was a fluttering rush of a slender woman clad in lavender down thesteps. This woman first kissed Eudora with gentle fervor, then, with asly look around and voice raised intentionally high, she lifted theblue and white roll from the carriage with the tenderest care. "Did thedarling come to see his aunties?" she shrilled.
The old man and the boy in the front yard heard her distinctly. The oldman's face was imperturbable. The boy grinned.
Two other women, all clad in lavender, appeared in the doorway. Theyalso bent over the blue and white bundle. They also said something aboutthe darling coming to see his aunties. Then there ensued the softestchorus of lady-laughter, as if at some hidden joke.
"Come in, Eudora dear," said Amelia Lancaster. "Yes, come in, Eudoradear," said Anna Lancaster. "Yes, come in, Eudora dear," said SophiaWilling.
Sophia looked much older than her sisters, but with that exception theresemblance between all three was startling. They always dressed exactlyalike, too, in silken fabric of bluish lavender, like myrtle blossoms.Some of the poetical souls in the village called the Lancaster sisters"The ladies in lavender."
There was an astonishing change in the treatment of the blue and whitebundle when the sisters and Eudora were in the stately old sitting-room,with its heavy mahogany furniture and its white-wainscoted calls. Ameliasimply tossed the bundle into a corner of the sofa; then the sisters allsat in a loving circle around Eudora.
"Are you sure you are not utterly worn out, dear?" asked Amelia,tenderly; and the others repeated the question in exactly the same tone.The Lancaster sisters were not pretty, but all had charming expressionsof gentleness and a dignified good-will and loving kindness. Their blueeyes beamed love at Eudora, and it was as if she sat encircled in asoul-ring of affection.
She responded, and her beautiful face glowed with tenderness andpleasure, and something besides, which was as the light of victory.
"I am not in the least tired, thank you, dears," she replied. "Whyshould I be tired? I am very strong."
Amelia murmured something about such hard work.
"I never thought it would be hard work taking care of a baby," repliedEudora, "and especially such a very light baby."
Something whimsical crept into Eudora's voice; something whimsical creptinto the love-light of the other women's eyes. Again a soft ripple ofmirth swept over them.
"Especially a baby who never cries," said Amelia.
"No, he never does cry," said Eudora, demurely.
They laughed again. Then Amelia rose and left the room to get thetea-things. The old serving-woman who had lived with them for many yearswas suffering from rheumatism, and was cared for by her daughter in thelittle cottage across the road from the Lancaster house. Her husband andgrandson were the man and boy at work in the grounds. The three sisterstook care of themselves and their house with the elegant ease and lackof fluster of gentlewomen born and bred. Miss Amelia, bringing inthe tea-tray, was an unclassed being, neither maid nor mistress, butoutranking either. She had tied on a white apron. She bore thesilver tray with an ease which bespoke either nerve or muscle
in herlace-draped arms.
She poured the tea, holding the silver pot high and letting the amberfluid trickle slowly, and the pearls and diamonds on her thin handsshone dully. Sophia passed little china plates and fringed napkins, andAnna a silver basket with golden squares of sponge-cake.
The ladies ate and drank, and the blue and white bundle on the sofaremained motionless. Eudora, after she had finished her tea, leanedback gracefully in her chair, and her dark eyes gleamed with its mildstimulus. She remained an hour or more. When she went out, Ameliaslipped an envelope into her hand and at the same time embraced andkissed her. Sophia and Anna followed her example. Eudora opened hermouth as if to speak, but smiled instead, a fond, proud smile. Duringthe last