Hetty had shunned the orchard since the day of the last sitting. Seated behind the shutters of her chamber-window, she had seen, almost every day, Thor bound across the grass in pursuit of a figure partially hidden by the lower branches. Since March frequented the spot, it was no resort for her. She had no time for play, she told Hester, gently, when she pleaded for a return to the pleasant lounging and talk “under green-apple boughs.” Homer could draw the carriage down the garden-walk and through the gate and leave the cripple there with books and color box, whenever she wanted to go. Hester often brought back stories of chats and readings and painting lessons with the brother or sister—sometimes with both. Occasionally, March came to the parsonage with a message from his sister to the effect that she had taken Hester home with her for the day or evening, and would return her in good order. He was apt to insist upon leaving the message with Hetty, if Mary Ann or one of the children answered his ring. Mr. Wayt’s wife’s sister would obey the summons in person, but she did not invite the bearer in. She ran down in her simple morning gown, or almost as plain afternoon dress, without waiting to remove her sewing apron, heard what he had to say gravely, and replied civilly, as might a servant or governess. And day by day, he marked the lessening round of cheek and chin, and the deepening of the plait between the brows. She could not know that he went away, each time pitying and loving her the more, and furious at the cruelty of the demands upon her time and strength. She could not have altered her behavior, unless to grow more formal, had she divined all. But for the orchard outings Hester would have had but a dull summer of it. As it was, it was the happiest of her life. She actually gained flesh, and her cheeks had the delicate flush of a sweet-pea blossom. She mellowed and mollified in the intercourse with the sound, bright natures of her new friends. Prosperity was teaching her unselfishness. Hetty had a proof of this after the Sunday dinner was eaten, and there still remained a long hour of sunful daylight. “I have a charming book which Miss May lent me yesterday,” she said, as her custodian inquired what she should do for her entertainment. “And now that mamma has set the children to studying their Sunday-school lessons for next week, you ought to have a breathing spell, my poor dear. You are bleaching too fast to please me. You can’t plead ‘work to do’ for once.”