XXVIII.
CHAPTER I. THE SEWING SOCIETY
CHAPTER II. THE NEW MINISTER
CHAPTER III. HARNESSING PRINCE
CHAPTER IV. MOTHER BARTLETT
CHAPTER V. MAKING HAY
CHAPTER VI. MR. KNOWLTON'S FISH
CHAPTER VII. BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES
CHAPTER VIII. THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD
CHAPTER IX. MRS STARLING'S OPINIONS
CHAPTER X. IN SUGAR
CHAPTER XI. A STORM IN SEPTEMBER
CHAPTER XII. THE ASHES OF THE FIRE
CHAPTER XIII. FROM THE POST OFFICE
CHAPTER XIV. MEETING AT ELMFIELD
CHAPTER XV. CATECHIZING
CHAPTER XVI. IS IT WELL WITH THEE?
CHAPTER XVII. THE USE OF LIVING
CHAPTER XVIII. A SNOWSTORM
CHAPTER XIX. OUT OF HUMDRUM
CHAPTER XX. SETTLED
CHAPTER XXI. UNSETTLED
CHAPTER XXII. NEW LIFE
CHAPTER XXIII. SUPPER AT HOME
CHAPTER XXIV. THE MINISTER'S WIFE
CHAPTER XXV. MISS COLLINS' WORK
CHAPTER XXVI. THINGS UNDONE
CHAPTER XXVII. BONDS
CHAPTER XXVIII. EVAN'S SISTER
CHAPTER XXIX. HUSBAND AND WIFE
CHAPTER XXX. SUNSHINE
CHAPTER XXXI. A JUNE DAY
CHAPTER XXXII. WIND AND TIDE
CHAPTER XXXIII. BUDS AND BLOSSOMS
CHAPTER XXXIV. DAIRY AND PARISH WORK
CHAPTER XXXV. BABYLON
CHAPTER XXXVI. THE PARTY
CHAPTER XXXVII. AT ONE
DIANA.
CHAPTER I.
THE SEWING SOCIETY.
I am thinking of a little brown house, somewhere in the wilds of New England. I wish I could make my readers see it as it was, one June afternoon some years ago. Not for anything very remarkable about it; there are thousands of such houses scattered among our hills and valleys; nevertheless one understands any life story the better for knowing amid what sort of scenes it was unfolded. Moreover, such a place is one of the pleasant things in the world to look at, as I judge. This was a small house, with its gable end to the road, and a lean-to at the back, over which the long roof sloped down picturesquely. It was weather-painted; that was all; of a soft dark grey now, that harmonized well enough with the gayer colours of meadows and trees. And two superb elms, of New England's own, stood beside it and hung over it, enfolding and sheltering the little old house, as it were, with their arms of strength and beauty. Those trees would have dignified anything. One of them, of the more rare weeping variety, drooped over the door of the lean-to, shading it protectingly, and hiding with its long pendant branches the hard and stiff lines of the building. So the green draped the grey; until, in the soft mingling of hues, the light play of sunshine and shadow, it seemed as if the smartness of paint upon the old weather-boarding would have been an intrusion, and not an advantage. In front of the house was a little space given to flowers; at least there were some irregular patches and borders, where balsams and hollyhocks and pinks and marigolds made a spot of light colouring; with one or two luxuriantly-growing blush roses, untrained and wandering, bearing a wealth of sweetness on their long, swaying branches. There was that spot of colour; all around and beyond lay meadows, orchards and cultivated fields; till at no great distance the ground became broken, and rose into a wilderness of hills, mounting higher and higher. In spots these also showed cultivation; for the most part they were covered with green woods in the depth of June foliage. The soft, varied hilly outline filled the whole circuit of the horizon; within the nearer circuit of the hills the little grey house sat alone, with only one single exception. At the edge of the meadow land, half hid behind the spur of a hill, stood another grey farm-house; it might have been half a mile off. People accustomed to a more densely populated country would call the situation lonesome; solitary it was. But Nature had shaken down her hand full of treasures over the place. Art had