The crocuses in
Friend Allis's garden-bed shot up cups of gold and sapphire from the dark
mould; slight long buds nestled under the yellow-green leafage of the
violet-patch; white and sturdy points bristled on the corner that in May
was thick with lilies-of-the-valley, crisp, cool, and fragrant; and in a
knotty old apricot-tree two bluebirds and a robin did heralds' duty,
singing of summer's procession to come; and we made ready to receive it
both in our hearts and garments.
Josephine Boyle, Letty Allis, and I, Sarah Anderson, three cousins as we
were, sat at the long window of Friend Allis's parlor, pretending to sew,
really talking. Mr. Stepel, a German artist, had just left us; and a
little trait of Miss Josephine's, that had occurred during his call,
brought out this observation from Cousin Letty:--
"Jo, how could thee let down thy hair so before that man?"
Jo laughed. "Thee is a little innocent, Letty, with your pretty dialect!
Why did I let my hair down? For Mr. Stepel to see it, of course."
"That is very evident," interposed I; "but Letty is not so innocent or so
wise as to have done wondering at your caprices, Jo; expound, if you
please, for her edification."
"I do not pretend to be wise or simple, Sarah; but I didn't think Cousin
Josephine had so much vanity.
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