When she went home, she got down on her knees in the porch, and examined the mint carefully. It was bright moonlight; not a sprig had been disturbed. Lydia opened the door and walked in, trampling the mint ruthlessly. The next day was Sunday, and she went to meeting dressed in her best gown, with roses sprinkled over a blue ground, and her Leghorn bonnet trimmed with a rose-colored ribbon, and sat fanning herself calmly with a painted fan when Freelove entered, but he never looked at her. The minister preached from Psalm lxxv. 5, “Lift not up your horn on high; speak _not_ with a stiff neck,” and there was much nudging in the congregation, and uneasiness among the young men who had saluted Abraham White and his bride. Freelove sat straight and stiff, but his face was red. Lydia smiled behind her fan. The next morning Sarah Porter, the girl whom she had visited Saturday evening, came in. She had heard that Lydia had really jilted her lover. She and her mother had watched, and knew that he had not come courting the night before. “I hear you and Freelove have fallen out,” said she. Her lips were smiling archly, but her eyes were hard and curious. “There’s plenty to hear, if folks keep their ears pricked up,” replied Lydia, and she would say no more. She smiled scornfully when presently she watched Sarah Porter’s squat figure go out of the yard. “She didn’t find out much,” she muttered. “She’d give all her old shoes to get Freelove herself, but he wouldn’t look at her.” That forenoon Lydia took her flax-carding out on the porch again. Soon, as she sat there, she saw Abel Perkins coming. He hesitated at the gate. He carried a great bunch of white lilacs. Purple lilacs were plenty in East Bridgewater, but white ones grew nowhere except in the squire’s yard. “Ain’t you coming in, Abel?” called Lydia, and she smiled her sweet imperious smile at him. Abel came up the path, extending the great bunch of lilacs like a propitiatory offering to a deity. “I thought maybe you’d like a bunch of these white lilacs, Lydia,” he said. “Thank you, Abel; they’re real handsome, and I’ll put them in a pitcher when I go in,” replied Lydia, graciously. This morning she wore a green and white gown, which made her face still more like a rose. Abel stood leaning against a post of the porch, looking at her, then looking quickly away. “Have you got any errands or anything you want done, Lydia?” he stammered. Lydia looked at him; a sudden wicked light came into her eyes. There he stood, in his fine waistcoat and broadcloth, with his handsome knee-buckles and gold chain. His hands were long and slim and white, much whiter than hers. “Why, yes, Abel,” said she; “if you really want something to do, the pease out in my garden need sticking.” Abel Perkins stared aghast a minute; then he started eagerly. “You’ll have to go up in the pasture and cut some brush,” said Lydia.