We watched her cross the yard, tall, stately, erect, and disappear down the lane.

Then, as often aforetime, we gathered together in the cheer of the red hearth-flame, while outside the wind of a winter twilight sang through fair white valleys brimmed with a reddening sunset, and a faint, serene, silver-cold star glimmered over the willow at the gate.
"Well," said Felicity, drawing a relieved breath, "I'm glad she's gone.
She certainly is queer, just as mother said." "It's a different kind of queerness from what I expected, though," said the Story Girl meditatively.

"There's something I can't quite make out about Aunt Eliza.

I don't think I altogether like her." "I'm precious sure I don't," said Dan.
"Oh, well, never mind.

She's gone now and that's the last of it," said Cecily comfortingly.
But it wasn't the last of it--not by any manner of means was it! When our grown-ups returned almost the first words Aunt Janet said were, "And so you had the Governor's wife to tea ?" We all stared at her.
"I don't know what you mean," said Felicity.