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Updated: May 27, 2025
She had no gift at entertaining herself, and was always glad, as one might say, to be taken off her own hands. Miss Pendexter smiled back, as if she felt herself to be equal to the occasion. "How be you to-day?" the guest asked kindly, as she entered the kitchen. "Why, what a sight o' flowers, Mis' Bickford! What be you goin' to do with 'em all?" Mrs.
Bickford aimlessly handled the syringas and flowering almond sprays, choosing them out of the fragrant heap only to lay them down again. She glanced out of the window; then gave Miss Pendexter a long expressive look. "I expect you're going to carry 'em over to the burying-ground?" inquired the guest, in a sympathetic tone.
They talked as fast as possible about the weather, and how warm it had been walking up the mountain, and how cold it had been a year ago, that day when Abby Pendexter had been kept at home by a snowstorm and missed her visit.
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