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Updated: June 14, 2025
Gertrude declared, giving a pull at the lilac-bush. Her companion glanced at her, and then looked down on the ground. "I think father expected you would come to church," she said. "What shall I say to him?" "Say I have a bad headache." "Would that be true?" asked the elder lady, looking straight at the pond again. "No, Charlotte," said the younger one simply.
She had often wondered, however, why, when her mother wanted to have a good cry, she always sat at the kitchen window that looked out across the row of stunted apple-trees, the sorghum patch, and finally the corn, to where the carnelian bluff lifted its pebbly head; and why, whenever the big brothers saw their mother weeping there, if it were winter, they always coaxed her into the sitting-room, where a pile of magazines and books, bought to divert her, lay beside the lounge; or, if it were summer, out into the front garden, where a low bench stood against the house, under the lilac-bush, facing the round and diamond-shaped beds of scarlet verbenas, yellow marguerites, bachelor's-buttons and pansies.
The carriage was forthwith stopped and sent around to the stables, while the two friends went on foot through the village. Every house, every fence-corner, every lilac-bush or clump of hollyhocks, or row of currant-bushes in the gardens, suggested some reminiscence, and the two old ladies were presently laughing and crying at once.
The little girls behind the lilac-bush watched the boy curiously. "Why does he walk like that?" asked Panoria, as she noted Napoleon's advance. He came slowly, his eyes fixed on the sea, his hands clasped behind his back. "Our uncle the canon," whispered Eliza; "he walks just that way, and Napoleon copies him." "My, he looks about fifty!" said Panoria. "What do you suppose he is thinking about?"
There was a terrible commotion in the lilac-bush. Not a breath of wind was blowing; and yet the branches shook from top to bottom and all the leaves quivered so that it hurt one's eyes to see.
There is n't a thing in this part of the city that is over ten years old, and I was n't planted first, by any means!" And then Hester said, "My darling, darling lilac-bush! Easter won't be Easter without it; and lame Jenny leans out of her window every day as I come from school, and asks, 'Is the lilac budding?" "Oh dear!" sighed the little bush.
A waft of rich scent comes from a hawthorn hedge where a hidden cuckoo flutes, or just where the lane turns by the old water-mill, which throbs and grumbles with the moving gear, a great lilac-bush leans out of a garden and fills the air with perfume.
The way he did it, the way he looked at her made me just know, and I got right down on my knees under the lilac-bush, and when he'd gone I sang, "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow." Sang it loud. I didn't care who heard. I wasn't telling why I was thankful. Just telling I was. Oh, Mary Martha Cary, to think of her being your really, truly Aunt! The very next thing to a mother!
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