I

           AgirlcameoutoflawyerRoyall’shouse,attheendoftheonestreetofNorthDormer,andstoodonthedoorstep.

           ItwasthebeginningofaJuneafternoon.Thespringliketransparentskyshedarainofsilversunshineontheroofsofthevillage,andonthepasturesandlarchwoodssurroundingit.Alittlewindmovedamongtheroundwhitecloudsontheshouldersofthehills,drivingtheirshadowsacrossthefieldsanddownthegrassyroadthattakesthenameofstreetwhenitpassesthroughNorthDormer.Theplacelieshighandintheopen,andlacksthelavishshadeofthemoreprotectedNewEnglandvillages.Theclumpofweeping-willowsabouttheduckpond,andtheNorwaysprucesinfrontoftheHatchardgate,castalmosttheonlyroadsideshadowbetweenlawyerRoyall’shouseandthepointwhere,attheotherendofthevillage,theroadrisesabovethechurchandskirtstheblackhemlockwallenclosingthecemetery.

           ThelittleJunewind,friskingdownthestreet,shookthedolefulfringesoftheHatchardspruces,caughtthestrawhatofayoungmanjustpassingunderthem,andspunitcleanacrosstheroadintotheduck-pond.

           AsherantofishitoutthegirlonlawyerRoyall’sdoorstepnoticedthathewasastranger,thatheworecityclothes,andthathewaslaughingwithallhisteeth,astheyoungandcarelesslaughatsuchmishaps.

           Herheartcontractedalittle,andtheshrinkingthatsometimescameoverherwhenshesawpeoplewithholidayfacesmadeherdrawbackintothehouseandpretendtolookforthekeythatsheknewshehadalreadyputintoherpocket.