The grass was laid low when she went home, and Benny stood, a conqueror in a battle-field of summer, leaning on his scythe. “Only look, Annie,” he cried out, like a child. “I have cut all the grass.” Annie wanted to hug him. Instead she laughed. “It was time to cut it,” she said. Her tone was cool, but her eyes were adoring. Benny laid down his scythe, took her by the arm, and led her into the house. Silas and his other daughters were in the sitting-room, and the room was so orderly it was painful. The ornaments on the mantel-shelf stood as regularly as soldiers on parade, and it was the same with the chairs. Even the cushions on the sofa were arranged with one corner overlapping another. The curtains were drawn at exactly the same height from the sill. The carpet looked as if swept threadbare. Annie's first feeling was of worried astonishment; then her eye caught a glimpse of Susan's kitchen apron tucked under a sofa pillow, and of layers of dust on the table, and she felt relieved. After all, what she had done had not completely changed the sisters, whom she loved, faults and all. Annie realized how horrible it would have been to find her loved ones completely changed, even for the better. They would have seemed like strange, aloof angels to her. They all welcomed her with a slight stiffness, yet with cordiality. Then Silas made a little speech. “Your father and your sisters are glad to welcome you home, dear Annie,” he said, “and your sisters wish me to say for them that they realize that possibly they may have underestimated your tasks and overestimated their own. In short, they may not have been--” Silas hesitated, and Benny finished. “What the girls want you to know, Annie, is that they have found out they have been a parcel of pigs.” “We fear we have been selfish without realizing it,” said Jane, and she kissed Annie, as did Susan and Eliza. Imogen, looking very handsome in her blue linen, with her embroidery in her hands, did not kiss her sister. She was not given to demonstrations, but she smiled complacently at her. “We are all very glad to have dear Annie back, I am sure,” said she, “and now that it is all over, we all feel that it has been for the best, although it has seemed very singular, and made, I fear, considerable talk. But, of course, when one person in a family insists upon taking everything upon herself, it must result in making the others selfish.” Annie did not hear one word that Imogen said. She was crying on Susan's shoulder. “Oh, I am so glad to be home,” she sobbed. And they all stood gathered about her, rejoicing and fond of her, but she was the one lover among them all who had been capable of hurting them and hurting herself for love's sake. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Copy-Cat and Other Stories, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman