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“If Judith would only get married,” Mrs. Theodora Whitney was wont to sigh dolorously.

Now, there was no valid reason why Judith ought to get married unless she wanted to. But Judith was twenty-seven and Mrs. Theodora thought it was a terrible disgrace to be an old maid.

“There has never been an old maid in our family so far back as we know of,” she lamented. “And to think that there should be one now! It just drags us down to the level of the McGregors. They have always been noted for their old maids.”

Judith took all her aunt’s lamentations good-naturedly. Sometimes she argued the subject placidly.

“Why are you in such a hurry to be rid of me, Aunt Theo? I’m sure we’re very comfortable here together and you know you would miss me terribly if I went away.”

“If you took the right one you wouldn’t go so very far,” said Mrs. Theodora, darkly significant. “And, anyhow, I’d put up with any amount of lonesomeness rather than have an old maid in the family. It’s all very fine now, when you’re still young enough and good looking, with lots of beaus at your beck and call. But that won’t last much longer and if you go on with your dilly-dallying you’ll wake up some fine day to find that your time for choosing has gone by. Your mother used to be dreadful proud of your good looks when you was a baby. I told her she needn’t be. Nine times out of ten a beauty don’t marry as well as an ordinary girl.”

“I’m not much set on marrying at all,” declared Judith sharply. Any reference to the “right one” always disturbed her placidity. The real root of the trouble was that Mrs. Theodora’s “right one” and Judith’s “right one” were two different people.

The Ramble Valley young men were very fond of dancing attendance on Judith, even if she were verging on old maidenhood. Her prettiness was undeniable; the Stewarts came to maturity late and at twenty-seven Judith’s dower of milky-white flesh, dimpled red lips and shining bronze hair was at its fullest splendor. Besides, she was “jolly,” and jollity went a long way in Ramble Valley popularity.

Of all Judith’s admirers Eben King alone found favor in Mrs. Theodora’s eyes. He owned the adjoining farm, was well off and homely–so homely that Judith declared it made her eyes ache to look at him.

Bruce Marshall, Judith’s “right one” was handsome, but Mrs. Theodora looked upon him with sour disapproval. He owned a stony little farm at the remote end of Ramble Valley and was reputed to be fonder of many things than of work. To be sure, Judith had enough capability and energy for two; but Mrs. Theodora detested a lazy man. She ordered Judith not to encourage him and Judith obeyed. Judith generally obeyed her aunt; but, though she renounced Bruce Marshall, she would have nothing to do with Eben King or anybody else and all Mrs. Theodora’s grumblings did not mend matters.

The afternoon that Mrs. Tony Mack came in Mrs. Theodora felt more aggrieved than ever. Ellie McGregor had been married the previous week–Ellie, who was the same age as Judith and not half so good looking. Mrs. Theodora had been nagging Judith ever since.

“But I might as well talk to the trees down there in that hollow,” she complained to Mrs. Tony. “That girl is so set and contrary minded. She doesn’t care a bit for my feelings.”

This was not said behind Judith’s back. The girl herself was standing at the open door, drinking in all the delicate, evasive beauty of the spring afternoon. The Whitney house crested a bare hill that looked down on misty intervals, feathered with young firs that were golden green in the pale sunlight. The fields were bare and smoking, although the lanes and shadowy places were full of moist snow. Judith’s face was aglow with the delight of mere life and she bent out to front the brisk, dancing wind that blew up from the valley, resinous with the odors of firs and damp mosses.