Azalea drew back into the shadow of the house. So in the morning they would be off—Keefe and his bright little sister—carrying their rich romance with them, and the Oriole’s Nest would be the poorer for their going! They would be gloriously happy together, telling each other all that had happened in the years they had been apart. They would go farther, those two, with their eager, answering minds, and would talk not only of what they had done, but of what they had thought and felt. Each would be turning out the riches of his mind for the other to see—holding up their fancies as if they were embroidered clothes, and each marveling at what the other had to show. They would be telling to each other the poetry they knew; and Keefe would be making pictures while Mary Cecily watched. And how the two of them would love the children and admire their graceful ways! Azalea could see how they would look, all the family of them, sitting about the blazing fire in that queer “drawing-room.” Keefe’s pictures would be put up on the wall—the whole place would be plastered with them—and they would be talking about this one and that, and where it was painted. Then they would be singing together, and whistling and dancing—heaven only knew what they would or wouldn’t do. Azalea felt the hot tears of shameless envy crowding out from under her lids, and hated herself for them. She to help on her fellow-men? She to work to add to the goodness and happiness of the world, when she grudged these two their simple happiness, after so many years of tears and longing and heartache? Could a more miserable, absurd, abject girl than herself be found anywhere, she wondered. She thanked heaven that the friends there beside her did not dream how ignoble she was. Rowantree meantime had said good night and had mounted and ridden away. They watched the light of his lantern flitting like a firefly among the trees and at last disappearing entirely in the night. The McEvoys came with the milk, and lingered to learn the news. As they walked away Miss Zillah and her girls could hear their soft singsong voices in kindly unison. “They’re right sweet folks,” Miss Zillah declared, sighing unaccountably. “At first they did seem queer to me, but now I’ve grown to be as fond of them as if they were old neighbors. They’re a good example of a happy married pair, too. I don’t know as I ever heard them really disagree about a thing; and though those medicine bottles must be a terrible trial to Mr. McEvoy, he never says a word about them, except, of course, to tease Mis’ Cassie a little now and then.” “There haven’t been any new bottles bought since we came up here, I notice,” said Carin. “I suppose we’ve kept Mis’ Cassie so busy that she hasn’t had time to take thought about them.”