"No; it seems nearer and nearer all the time—since my strength has returned. We will have part of the winter in New York and Nan and Ken will be coming here, and there is your music, Joan!" Doris assumed authority and Joan submitted sweetly.
"Yes, Aunt Dorrie, and you and I will scour these hills and get acquainted with our people and have trips abroad, perhaps. It is simply splendid—the stretch on ahead."
The sun-lighted room was still radiant with the decorations of Nancy's wedding. Tall jars of roses woodbine and "rhoderdeners," as old Jed called them, were everywhere. Nancy had only departed two days before.
"What a charming wedding it was!" Doris mused, patting the loom; "every time I think of it something new and unusual recurs."
Joan rubbed away and laughed gaily.
"Father Noble looked like a precious old saint," she said. "I declare when he told about Mary I was almost afraid he'd be translated before he had a chance to marry Nan."
How little Joan realized that she was touching upon a mighty thing; how little either she or Doris were really ever to know.
Doris came to the hearth and sat down in a deep chair, her face had suddenly grown serious.
"I was thinking of that incident," she said.
"Joan, I have always misjudged Mary. She has always puzzled me. I have thought her hard and selfish—the people here have thought her mean." Doris paused, and Joan looked around and remarked: