"Stop dreaming and scolding yourself, Grandma," laughed David. "There's a little city girl living up on the hill back of Will Turner's who needs you most awful bad. I offered to bring her down here but she thinks it wouldn't be proper. She says you haven't called and she wants to do things right and that maybe you wouldn't want to know her. She's mighty lonely and strange about Green Valley ways of doing things. I most wished to-day that I was a woman so I could help her. Her mother's been sick more or less since they come here and she's looking after things herself. I'd like to help her but there's things a man just can't tell a girl or do for her. Uncle Roger sent me over here to tell you to come across and talk about some church matters with him. But I think this little girl business ought to be tended to right away."
"Rains and gossip and new girls and first violets. I declare, it is spring, David. And Nanny Ainslee is back. Of course, I'll see about that little girl. You tell her I'm coming to call on her the day after tomorrow. Tell her I'll come up the woodsy side of her garden and I'll be wearing my pink sunbonnet and third best gingham apron."
Grandma took up a pan of fresh light biscuit, rolled them up in a crisp linen cloth and started out with David.
Outdoors she stopped and breathed deeply.
"I declare, David, I was almost lonesome before you stepped in but now I feel—well, spring mad or something. I do believe we'll have a wedding soon and a real old-fashioned springtime."
CHAPTER VII
THE WEDDING
Grandma Wentworth got her wedding but not just the kind of a wedding she had expected.
"Though, when you stop to think of it, an elopement is about as proper a spring happening as I know of. It's due mostly to this weather. We had too much rain in April and nothing but sweet sunshine and mad moonlight ever since."