During the winter Mahala found herself living passively. She found that she was allowing each day to provide its duties, and on land she learned that they were many. Whatever there was to do, she went about casually and determinedly. Slowly, through absorption in her work, through contact with the growing and the rejuvenating processes of nature, through the healing power of spontaneous life around her, the shadow began to lift. One day she stopped short in crossing the kitchen with a pan of odorous golden biscuit fresh from the oven in her hands, stunned by the realization that she was hearing her own voice lifted in a little murmuring song. There had been days in Mahala’s life when she never expected that song could ever again return to her lips. After a while, she realized that she was laughing with Jason over things that occurred when he came in ravenous from work to food of her preparing. She found herself talking happy, nonsensical things to the calf and the chickens that she was feeding, and she had trained the pigeons until they came circling around her, settling over her head and shoulders like a white cloud when she entered the barnyard with her feed basket. So spring came again. To repay Ellen Ford for the many things that she had done for her for which she had refused to accept payment in money, Mahala had selected, from samples she had Jason bring her, a piece of attractive pink calico and a blue gingham and a finer piece of dainty white goods. From these she fashioned attractive dresses for Ellen. The white one she made foamy with lace and feathery with ruffles. Ellen was delighted. She made bold to throw her arms around Mahala and kiss her repeatedly in an effort to express her thankfulness for this gift. But when the Ford carriage passed the house on Sunday morning, taking the family to church, Mahala was surprised to see that Ellen was wearing the pink dress instead of the white one. As she served Jason’s plate at dinner that day she said to him: “I thought Ellen would wear the white dress I made for her to-day, but I noticed as they passed that she wore the pink one.” And Jason answered: “Perhaps she’s saving the white one for some very special occasion.” “I suspect that is it,” said Mahala. “Maybe there’s going to be a picnic or a party.” A few days later, sitting on her front steps in the soft air of evening, Mahala saw Ellen slowly coming down the road in her direction, and then she saw Jason coming from one of his fields carrying a hoe over his shoulder. His lithe leap carried him over the fence as Ellen was passing. She saw them stop and begin talking, and then she saw Jason lean his hoe in the fence corner, turn, and slowly walk back down the road with Ellen. He stood for a long time at her gate talking with her before he came back, picked up his hoe, and came on to the house.