It did seem as if them sorrel pies were the last straw, but I hadn't ought to have minded it." "You haven't got to eat sorrel pies, have you ?" Rose asked, in a bewildered way.
"I don't s'pose they'll be any worse than some other things we eat," Sarah answered, scraping the pie-board again.
"I don't see how you can." "I guess they won't hurt us any," Sarah said, shortly, and Rose looked abashed.
"Well, I must be going," said she.
As she went out, she looked hesitatingly at Charlotte.

"Hadn't you better ?" she whispered.

Charlotte shook her head, and Rose went out into the spring sunlight.

She bent her head as she went down the road before the sweet gusts of south wind; the white apple-trees seemed to sing, for she could not see the birds in them.
Rose's face between the green sides of her bonnet had in it all the quickened bloom of youth in spring; her eyes had all the blue surprise of violets; she panted softly between red swelling lips as she walked; pulses beat in her crimson cheeks.

Her slender figure yielded to the wind as to a lover.