Waitstill's heart beat faster as she neared the Boynton house.
She had never so much as seen Ivory's mother for years. How would
she be met? Who would begin the conversation, and what direction
would it take? What if Mrs. Boynton should refuse to talk to her
at all? She walked slowly along the lane until she saw a slender,
gray-clad figure stooping over a flower-bed in front of the
cottage. The woman raised her head with a fawn-like gesture that
had something in it of timidity rather than fear, picked some
loose bits of green from the ground, and, quietly turning her
back upon the on coming stranger, disappeared through the open
front door.
There could be no retreat on her own part now, thought Waitstill.
She wished for a moment that she had made this first visit under
Ivory's protection, but her idea had been to gain Mrs. Boynton's
confidence and have a quiet friendly talk, such a one as would be
impossible in the presence of a third person. Approaching the
steps, she called through the doorway in her clear voice: "Ivory
asked me to come and see you one day, Mrs. Boynton. I am
Waitstill Baxter, the little girl on Town House Hill that you
used to know."
Mrs. Boynton came from an inner room and stood on the threshold.
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