CHAPTERPAGE
I. Open Arms[1]
II. Inside June[15]
III. Miggy[33]
IV. Splendour Town[43]
V. Different[62]
VI. The Fond Forenoon[81]
VII. Afraid[96]
VIII. The Java Entertainment[116]
IX. The Cold Shoulder[136]
X. Evening Dress[148]
XI. Undern[176]
XII. The Way the World Is[191]
XIII. Householdry[206]
XIV. Postmarks[223]
XV. Peter[248]
XVI. The New Village[258]
XVII. Adoption[274]
XVIII. At Peter's House[293]
XIX. The Custodian[309]

Friendship Village Love Stories

I OPEN ARMS

Although it is June, the Little Child about whom I shall sometimes write in these pages this morning brought me a few violets. June violets. They sound unconvincing and even sentimental. However, here they are in their vase; and they are all white but one.

"Only one blue one," said Little Child, regretfully; "May must be 'most dead by mistake."

"Don't the months die as soon as they go away?" I asked her, and a little shocked line troubled her forehead.

"Oh, no," she said; "they never die at all. They wait and show the next months how."

So this year's May is showing June how. As if one should have a kind of pre-self, who kept on, after one's birth, and told one what to live and what not to live. I wish that I had had a pre-self and that it had kept on with me to show me how. It is what one's mother is, only one is so occupied in being one's born self that one thinks of her worshipfully as one's mother instead. But this young June seems to be chiefly May, and I am glad: for of all the months, May is to me most nearly the essence of time to be. In May I have always an impulse to date my letters "To-morrow," for all the enchantment of the usual future seems come upon me. The other months are richly themselves, but May is all the great premonitory zest come true; it is expectation come alive; it is the Then made Now. Conservatively, however, I date my May letters merely "To-morrow," and it is pleasant to find a conservative estimate which no one is likely to exceed. For I own that though there is a conservatism which is now wholly forbidden to me, yet I continue to take in it a sensuous, stolen pleasure, such as I take in certain ceremonies; and I know that if I were wholly pagan, extreme conservatism would be my chief indulgence.