"And a famine maybe. Do the very poor people sometimes starve?" "I do not think we have any very poor people, as they do in India. We are not overcrowded yet." The rain had beaten the paths and the street hard, and it looked as if it had been swept clean. In spite of it all there were cheering evidences of spring. "There are some children in that house," she exclaimed, nodding her head. "Yes, the Uphams. There are two girls and two boys, the oldest and the youngest, who isn't much more than a baby. Bentley Upham must be about twelve. Polly is next, but she is a head taller than you. Then there's Betty. I am glad there will be some little girls for you to play with." She looked eager and interested. "Will you come in to supper? Chilian, you ought to know better than to be standing in this damp air. And that child with nothing around her!" "The air is reviving, after having been housed for two days." But he turned and went in, leading the child by the hand. The long, bleak New England coast winter was over, though it had lingered as if loath to go. Springs were seldom early, no one expected that. But this one came on with a rush. The willows donned their silver catkins and then threw them off for baby leaves, the lilac buds showed purple, the elms and maples came out in bloom, and the soft ones drew crowds of half-famished bees to their sweet tassels. The grass was vividly green, iridescent in the morning sun, with the dew still upon it. Snowdrop, crocus, hepatica, and coltsfoot, wild honeysuckle, were all about, the forsythia flared out her saucy yellow, the fruit buds swelled. Parties were out in the woods hunting trailing arbutus that has been called the darling of northern skies, that lies hidden in its nest of green leaves, silent, with no wind tossing it to and fro, but betrayed by its sweetness. There were other signs of spring at Salem. The whole town seemed to burst out in house-cleaning. Parlor shutters were thrown open and windows washed. Carpets were beaten, blankets hung out to air, those that had been in real use washed. Women were out in gardens with sunbonnets and gloves, a coat of tan not being held in much esteem, and snipped at roses and hardy plants. Men were spading and planting the vegetable gardens, painting or white-washing fences. All was stir and bustle, and tired folk excused themselves if they nodded in church on Sunday. Cynthia made pilgrimages to the _Flying Star_ that had been her home for so long. The storm had wrought great havoc with some of the shipping, and big boys were out gathering driftwood. The _Gazette_ had some melancholy news of "lost at sea." But Captain Corwin thought he had weathered worse storms. "She is picking up mightily," he said to Miss Winn, nodding toward Cynthia. "Shouldn't be surprised if she favored her mother, after all. Only them eyes ain't neither Orne nor Leverett. Don't let her grieve too much when the bad news comes."