“My goodness,” said Anna, “isn’t that elegant?” And she looked down at Juliet, who was staring solemnly up at her.

“Yes, it is,” said Juliet.

“What were you doing,” asked Anna, “when I came along?”

“I was playing going to Milford,” said Juliet.  “Do you want to play with me?”

It seemed to Juliet that playing was something for any one to do.

Anna began to laugh.  She had a mind to say, “Do you think I’m as little as you are?” But instead, she found herself thinking, “Oh, my, wouldn’t it be fun.”

“Why,” she cried, “I declare, I do want to play with you.”

“All right,” said Juliet.  And she turned soberly back to the barn, behind the house.  But Anna sat down in the grass.  “Just you wait,” she said, “till I get my shoes and stockings off.  I’m going to play proper.”

Presently their happy voices, linked in laughter, rose from behind the house, where Juliet was showing Anna how to play store.  She tied her apron around her little belly, and came forward rubbing her hands.  “Would you like some nice licorice?” she asked.  “Everything’s very dear.”

When she was tired of playing store, she began to imitate old Mrs. Tomkins, the carpenter’s wife.  “This is the way to have the rheumatism,” she said.  And she hopped around on one foot.

After they were through playing, they sat quietly together in the hay, in the barn, without anything more to say.  Anna was warm and happy; she wanted to hug Juliet, to hold her tight, to rock up and down with her.  “There,” she thought, “if I only had one like her.”

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, to tease her.

“I was just thinking,” said Juliet, “it’s fun to play with people.”

Anna felt her heart give a sudden twist.  “Why, you dear, odd little thing,” she cried.  And taking the child in her arms, she covered the tiny head with kisses.  But Juliet drew away.

“I’m not little,” she said.  “I’m old.”

“So am I old,” said Anna.  She felt the joy run out of her; it left her empty.  “I expect everybody in the world is old,” she said.  She watched her hands move about in the hay like great spiders.

“Is it fun to be old, do you think?” asked Juliet.

“I don’t know,” said Anna.  “I don’t expect it is, much.”

“Mother is old,” said Juliet.  “What do old people do?”

Anna looked out through the barn door across the wet fields, the drenched hillsides, shrouded in mist.  “I don’t know,” she said.  And she got up to go home.

“Well, good-by,” said Juliet.

Just then Mrs. Wicket came in from the road, with a basket on her arm.  When she saw Anna standing in front of the barn she grew pink and confused.  For she thought that Anna had come to call on her.  “Good afternoon,” she said.  “I was out.  I’m real sorry.  Won’t you come in?”

“Oh, no,” said Anna.  “I was going on . . .  I only stopped for a minute. . . .”