The grass would never grow there over the roots of the elm, which were flung out broadly like great recumbent limbs over the whole yard, and were barely covered by the mould.
Across the street, seen under the green sweep of the elm, was an orchard of old apple-trees which had blossomed out bravely that spring.

Charlotte looked at the white and rosy masses of bloom.
"I guess there wasn't any frost last night, after all," she remarked.
"I dunno," responded Sylvia, in a voice which made her niece look around at her.

There was a curious impatient ring in it which was utterly foreign to it.

There was a frown between Sylvia's gentle eyes, and she moved with nervous jerks, setting down dishes hard, as if they were refractory children, and lashing out with spoons as if they were whips.

The long, steady strain upon her patience had not affected her temper, but this last had seemed to bring out a certain vicious and waspish element which nobody had suspected her to possess, and she herself least of all.