One Sunday afternoon, during the latter part of July, Lucina Merritt strolled down the road to her aunt Camilla's.

The day was very warm--droning huskily with insects, and stirring lazily with limp leaves.
There had been no rain for a long time, and the road smoked high with white dust at every foot-fall.

Lucina raised her green and white muslin skirts above her embroidered petticoat, and set her little feet as lightly as a bird's.

She carried a ruffled green silk parasol to shield herself from the sun, though her hat had a wide brim and flapped low over her eyes.
Her mother had remonstrated with her for going out in the heat, since she had not looked quite well of late.

"You will make your head ache," said she.
"It is so cool in Aunt Camilla's north room," pleaded Lucina, and had her way.
She walked slowly, as her mother had enjoined, but it was like walking between a double fire of arrows from the blazing white sky and earth; when she came in sight of her aunt Camilla's house her head was dizzy and her veins were throbbing.
Lucina had not been happy during the last few weeks, and sometimes, in such cases, physical discomfort acts like a tonic poison.