Then, too, she was upheld somewhat by her pride in right-doing and providing for the interests of her family.

Enough of the New England conscience she had to give her a certain comfort in holding herself to duty, like a knife to a grindstone.
The third week of April had begun when one morning Dorothy Fair came to the door.

Madelon was out in the field beside the house, laying some lengths of cloth on the green sunny levels to whiten.

The grass had turned quite green in places, and the sun was hot as midsummer.
The buds on the trees opened before one's eyes, as if unfolded by warm fingers.

People walked languidly, for the humid heat served to force nothing to life in them but dreams; but the birds lived on their wings and called out of all the distances.
Madelon, standing up from spreading her linen, caught sight of the swing of a blue petticoat, like the swing of a blue flower, beside the house door, and went towards it directly.
But when she reached the house the blue-clad visitor had disappeared within.