From the trees overhead as she passed, icy drops rained
down upon her; she felt the silence all about her, and saw, from the
rises, the gray hills, the rolling mist, and the low clouds, trailing
above the woods, now light, now dark.
She was disappointed because life was no different than it was. She
had hoped to find it as delightful as in those happy days before the
war, when she played at kissing games and twined dandelion wreaths in
her hair. But now it did not amuse her to play at post-office; she was
sad because she was no longer able to be gay. As she passed the little
cottage belonging to Mrs. Wicket, she thought to herself: "Yes, you've
seen something of life. But not what I want to see, exactly. Look at
you." Like Mrs. Grumble, she believed that Mrs. Wicket had nothing
more to live for. "There you are," she said, "and there you'll be.
Life doesn't mean even as much as a hayride, so far as you're concerned.
"You, God," she cried, "put something in my way, just once."
At that moment Juliet, who had been peeking out from behind the house,
came skipping down the path to the road.
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