It was after the Improvement Club, under the advice of Francis, had taken the proceeds of the lawn social from the little tin box, and invested it in young shade trees, that proudly skirted the sidewalks twenty feet apart, that Francis snapped his final picture from the head of the street. After it was developed he compared it to that other taken on the August morning. The results appeared to satisfy him. "They are an object lesson," he said, "fit to point a moral or adorn a tale," and he mailed them in a big official looking envelope to "Peter Hanson, Florist,—New York,—Prize Street Competition."
It was this very day, too, that Miss Billy was placed in an easy chair, and taken to the window for the first time since her illness. "Oh, it's such a green world, motherie mine; such a beautiful, sunny, green world, that it hurts my eyes. And—why—but everything wasn't all green like that when I went to bed. What can have happened!"
"That is enough for to-day," said the nurse authoritatively, and Miss Billy was put back to bed. But she had caught a glimpse of Mr. Schultzsky's house, and it was painted white!—Of the little Bohemian maid swinging placidly to and fro in the rocking chair on an immaculate little white porch!—Of a stretch of restful green grass, where before had been weeds!—and right in the middle of the front yard had bloomed a huge tub of scarlet geraniums! ("She will like to see that," Francis had said,—and through the long beautiful fall which stretched into December, he had placed a covering over the flowers every night to protect them from possible frosts.) Miss Billy had seen, and two hectic spots of excitement burned on her cheeks.
"Cherry Street is remodelled, inside and out," said Mrs. Lee gently. "Francis has made Mr. Schultzsky see the expense of it in the light of a sound business proposition, and the rest of it has been done by the people themselves, for love of you. But there, little daughter,—it's nothing to cry about!"
"I'm not crying," said Miss Billy valiantly, the big tears chasing each other down her cheeks. "Don't you see that I'm laughing, and happy, and thankful? Oh, it is so nice to come back to this dear, beautiful world!"
There were informal receptions held in the little green room as she grew daily stronger. Marie Jean, still with the trailing dresses, but with the heavy frizzes forever gone,—John Thomas, freckled of face and worshipful, alert to Miss Billy's slightest wish,—Mr. Hennesy, brimful of cheer and whimsical philosophy,—Mrs. Hennesy, overflowing with kindness and neighbourly apologies,—Mr. Schultzsky, stoical, yet changed,—Holly Belle, who whispered with shy blushes that beside her finger exercises Miss Margaret had given her a "piece," with variations: and every day Margaret and Francis, and the members of the Improvement Club, who sat about and gazed at Miss Billy restored to them and were thankful.
It was the eighteenth of December when the first snow came sifting down. It covered the green lawns, and wrapped the young shade trees, and whitened the roofs of the little white houses. And not till then did Cherry Street remember that summer was gone and Christmas was near.
"We'll have a Christmas tree big enough for everybody," said Theodore. "John Thomas and I will go out and buy the largest we can find, and set it up in the parlour."