work in New York, as if that settled the question.  It is a comfort to see old Sally Turner and Miss Betsy Milman go by in their decent dark silk bonnets that good Susan Martin made for them.  If I could go out to-morrow I believe I would rather hunt for a very large velvet specimen of her work, which is somewhere upstairs in a big bandbox, than trust myself to these ignorant hands.  It is a great misfortune to a town if it has been disappointed in its milliner.  You are quite at her mercy, and, worse than all, liable to entire social misapprehension when you venture far from home.”

“So bonnets are not a question of free will and individual responsibility?” asked the doctor soberly.  “I must say that I have wondered sometimes if the women do not draw lots for them.  But what shall I do about the little girl?  I am afraid I do her great injustice in trying to bring her up at all—­it needs a woman’s eye.”

“Your eye is just as good as anybody’s,” responded Mrs. Graham quickly, lest the doctor should drift into sad thought about his young wife who had been so long dead and yet seemed always a nearer and dearer living presence to him.  He was apt to say a word or two about her and not answer the next question which was put to him, and presently go silently away,—­but to-day Mrs. Graham had important business in hand.

“My daughter will be here next week,” she observed, presently, “and I’m sure that she will do any shopping for you in Boston with great pleasure.  We might forestall Marilla’s plans.  You could easily say when you go home that you have spoken to me about it.  I think it would be an excellent opportunity now, while the East Road establishment is in disfavor,” and when the doctor smiled and nodded, his friend and hostess settled herself comfortably in her chair, and felt that she had gained a point.

The sunshine itself could hardly have made that south parlor look pleasanter.  There was a log in the fire that was wet, and singing gently to itself, as if the sound of the summer rustlings and chirpings had somehow been stored away in its sap, and above it were some pieces of drier white birch, which were sending up a yellow conflagration to keep the marauding snow-flakes from coming down the chimney.  The geraniums looked brighter than by daylight, and seemed to hold their leaves toward the fireplace as if they were hands; and were even leaning out a little way themselves and lifting their blossoms like torches, as if they were a reserve force, a little garrison of weaker soldiers who were also enemies of the cold.  The gray twilight was gathering out of doors; the trees looked naked and defenceless, as one saw them through the windows.  Mrs. Graham tapped the arms of her chair gently with the tips of her fingers, and in a few minutes the doctor closed the book he was looking over and announced that the days were growing very short.  There was something singularly pleasant to both the friends in their quiet Sunday afternoon companionship.