One day toward spring Mr. Ramy, who had by this time become as much a part of their lives as the letter-carrier or the milkman, ventured the suggestion that the ladies should accompany him to an exhibition of stereopticon views which was to take place at Chickering Hall on the following evening. After their first breathless “Oh!” of pleasure there was a silence of mutual consultation, which Ann Eliza at last broke by saying: “You better go with Mr. Ramy, Evelina. I guess we don't both want to leave the store at night.” Evelina, with such protests as politeness demanded, acquiesced in this opinion, and spent the next day in trimming a white chip bonnet with forget-me-nots of her own making. Ann Eliza brought out her mosaic brooch, a cashmere scarf of their mother's was taken from its linen cerements, and thus adorned Evelina blushingly departed with Mr. Ramy, while the elder sister sat down in her place at the pinking-machine. It seemed to Ann Eliza that she was alone for hours, and she was surprised, when she heard Evelina tap on the door, to find that the clock marked only half-past ten. “It must have gone wrong again,” she reflected as she rose to let her sister in. The evening had been brilliantly interesting, and several striking stereopticon views of Berlin had afforded Mr. Ramy the opportunity of enlarging on the marvels of his native city. “He said he'd love to show it all to me!” Evelina declared as Ann Eliza conned her glowing face. “Did you ever hear anything so silly? I didn't know which way to look.” Ann Eliza received this confidence with a sympathetic murmur. “My bonnet IS becoming, isn't it?” Evelina went on irrelevantly, smiling at her reflection in the cracked glass above the chest of drawers. “You're jest lovely,” said Ann Eliza. Spring was making itself unmistakably known to the distrustful New Yorker by an increased harshness of wind and prevalence of dust, when one day Evelina entered the back room at supper-time with a cluster of jonquils in her hand. “I was just that foolish,” she answered Ann Eliza's wondering glance, “I couldn't help buyin' 'em. I felt as if I must have something pretty to look at right away.” “Oh, sister,” said Ann Eliza, in trembling sympathy. She felt that special indulgence must be conceded to those in Evelina's state since she had had her own fleeting vision of such mysterious longings as the words betrayed. Evelina, meanwhile, had taken the bundle of dried grasses out of the broken china vase, and was putting the jonquils in their place with touches that lingered down their smooth stems and blade-like leaves. “Ain't they pretty?” she kept repeating as she gathered the flowers into a starry circle. “Seems as if spring was really here, don't it?” Ann Eliza remembered that it was Mr. Ramy's evening. When he came, the Teutonic eye for anything that blooms made him turn at once to the jonquils. “Ain't dey pretty?” he said. “Seems like as if de spring was really here.”