“Why, Caroline’s careless about writin’—which of course I might have expected, seein’ the way you brought her up. But Bob White’s been up there lately, an’ I saw him when I went to town yesterday. I met him on the street, while I was goin’ to get my new glasses, an’ he took me up to the new hotel to lunch.” She bridled with pleasure, and I coughed to strangle my laugh of delight. Bob White paying court to Cousin Jane, without my meddling the least little bit! “We had four courses,” she went on in happy retrospection. “I didn’t know there was such a nice place in town. I don’t eat much lunch usually when I go—looks like it ain’t right to waste the Lord’s money just pamperin’ the flesh, as you might say; an’ besides, I’d rather save it. I never did hold by spendin’ money for foolishness like you an’ John Bird.” I’m sure the Peon and I haven’t been on the simplest kind of a lark for years; and when we went it was usually a picnic in the woods with the children, and the plainest of home-made lunches; but I received this snub in silence. Cousin Jane plunged on with her news. “Bob’s heels over head in love with Caroline—that’s easy to see. It ’ud be a good match for her, too.” “But you said you wanted David for her,” I objected in as dolorous a voice as I could muster. “I ain’t so favorable to David as I was,” she answered frankly. “He’s got a mighty ugly temper. He flared up at me downright impudent that time I spoke to him about Caroline; an’ he good as turned me out of your room one day, without opening his mouth. He’d lead Caroline a hard life. Of course I didn’t say a word to Bob, but I saw by the way he went on how it was. A keen business man like him don’t go a hundred miles out of his way to visit a girl for nothin’. I know.” “But you thought David cared,” I pleaded. “If he does, let him do somethin’ to prove it, ’stead o’ settin’ like a bump on a log. I ain’t goin’ to help him another mite.” Cousin Jane’s visits certainly add to one’s list of mercies. I’ve been telling Grumpy all the week that nothing can be very bad as long as she no longer smiles on David, but afflicts Bob White with her disastrous friendship. My clouds are silver-lined indeed! * * * * * _January 29._ The first spring signs the birds give us: we must look skyward for them, past earth altogether. The next spring signs are hidden deep, in those dark places where sunlight never comes. For the violets which empurple the long borders, like the song of the Carolina wren, are not a sign of spring, but a constant witness to ever-present life. They bloom every month of the winter, just as the bird sings. The spring-time message is brought by something of a frailer courage than theirs—something which must needs retrace steps the violets have never taken.