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Updated: June 28, 2025
John Baird rather lighted up for a moment when he caught sight of her. "I am glad to see you, Miss Amory," he said. "Thank you," she answered. "I hope you are as well as you look." "We're so delighted," Mrs. Stornaway announced, as if to the bystanders. "Everybody in Willowfield is so delighted to have you back again. The church has not seemed the same place. The man who took your place Mr.
Its place always had been at the front from the first, and there it took its stand. It had, perhaps, been hinted that its sole title to this position lay in its own stately assumption: but this, it may be argued, was sheer envy and entirely unworthy of notice. "Willowfield is not very large or very rich," its leading old lady said, "but it is important and has always been considered so."
But the caress was not a cold or rough one, and when he turned and strode away the flush was still on his sallow cheek. The Stornaway parlours were very brilliant that evening in a Willowfield sense. Not a Burton, a Larkin, or a Downing was missing, even Miss Amory Starkweather being present.
He was restless and feverish in his anxiety, and scarcely able to endure the delay which the arrangement of his affairs made necessary. He had not been well when he had left Willowfield, and during his watching by his wife's bedside he had grown thin and restless-eyed. "I want to get home. I must get home," he would exclaim, as if involuntarily.
There were the Stornaways, who had owned the button factory for nearly a generation and a half which was a long time; the Downings, who had kept the feed-store for quite thirty years, and the Burtons, who had been doctors for almost as long, not to mention the Larkins, who had actually founded the Willowfield Times, and kept it going, which had scarcely been expected of them at the outset.
He could talk to her as he could not talk to the rest of Willowfield. She read and thought and argued with herself, and as a product of a provincial dogmatic New England town was a curious development. "Were you once a brilliant, wicked, feminine mover of things in some old French court?" he said to her once.
On the day distinguished by his return to his people, much subdued excitement prevailed in Willowfield. During the whole of the previous week Mrs. Stornaway's carriage had paid daily visits to the down-town stores.
When he had entered the ministry, there had been some wonder expressed among the men who had known him best, but when he preached his first sermon at Willowfield, where there was a very desirable church indeed, with whose minister Mrs. Stornaway had become dissatisfied, and who in consequence was to be civilly removed, the golden apple fell at once into his hand.
Three months after the child was born and died, Margery came back to Willowfield to spend a week at home. She came to see Susan, and they sat together in the tragic little bare room and talked. Though the girl had been so delicately pretty before she left home, Susan saw that she had become much prettier.
Willowfield was near, Boston and New York themselves were not far distant, but the curious fact being that millions of human minds may work and grow and struggle as if they were the minds of dwellers upon another planet, though less than a hundred miles may separate them, the actual lives, principles, and significances of the larger places did not seem to touch the smaller one.
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