Rilla of Ingleside

It was a warm, golden-cloudy, lovable afternoon. In the big living-room atIngleside Susan Baker sat down with a certain grim satisfaction hovering about herlike an aura; it was four o'clock and Susan, who had been working incessantly sincesix that morning, felt that she had fairly earned an hour of repose and gossip. Susanjust then was perfectly happy; everything had gone almost uncannily well in thekitchen that day. Dr. Jekyll had not been Mr. Hyde and so had not grated on hernerves; from where she sat she could see the pride of her heart-the bed of peoniesof her own planting and culture, blooming as no other peony plot in Glen St. Maryever did or could bloom, with peonies crimson, peonies silvery pink, peonies whiteas drifts of winter snow.