“He kissed me once, and then I knew it,” said Ellen.
“Well, I guess he loves you,” said Maria. Ellen shivered and drew a fluttering sigh of assent. Then the two girls lay in each other's arms, looking at the moonlight which streamed in through the window. God knew in what realms of pure romance, and of passion so sublimated by innocence that no tinge of earthliness remained, the two wandered in their dreams.
At last, that afternoon in February, Ellen put down little Amabel and got out her needle-work. She was making a lace neck-tie for her own adornment. She showed it to her grandmother at her mother's command. “It's real pretty,” said Mrs. Zelotes. “Ellen takes after the Brewsters; they were always handy with their needles.”
“Can uncle sew?” asked little Amabel, suddenly, from her corner, in a tone big with wonder.
Eva and the others chuckled, but Mrs. Zelotes eyed the child severely. “Little girls shouldn't ask silly questions,” said she.
Andrew passed his hand with a rough caress over the small flaxen head. “Uncle Andrew can't sew anything but shoes,” said he.
Little Amabel's question had aroused in Mrs. Zelotes a carping spirit even against Ellen. Presently she turned to her. “I heard something about you,” said she. “I want to know if it is true. I heard that you were walking home from school with that Joy boy one day last week.” Ellen looked at her grandmother without flinching, though the pink was over her face and neck.
“Yes'm, I did,” said she.
“Well, I think it's about time it was put a stop to,” said Mrs. Zelotes. “That Joy boy!”
Then Fanny lost her temper. “I can manage my own daughter, Grandma Brewster,” said she, “and I'll thank you to attend to your own affairs.”