Chapter XVIThe winter was broken at last. Drops began to drip from the icicles on the eaves, and little rivulets appeared in the gutters of the streets. Someone said they had heard a bird’s note, and Hesba brought home some stalks of p***y willow she had bought on the street.
Marget took them pleasantly, with as much fuss as if they were roses, and put them in a vase, feeling of their silky little blossoms and cuddling them as she would have done any flowers. But she could not help thinking that these little harbingers of spring were like Hesba, hard and tight and tailor-made.
Marget was beginning to try to excuse some of Hesba’s trying ways. It was almost time now, surely, for her to go back to her home, and she wanted her to leave as pleasantly as possible. She hoped against hope that
