The bell rang for the noon recess. The children appeared presently, trudging homeward through the snow to their midday dinners. Then Anne Warfield came out. She wore a heavy brown coat and soft brown hat. In her hand was a small earthen dish. She strewed seeds for the birds, and they flew down in front of her--juncoes and sparrows, a tufted titmouse, a cardinal blood-red against the whiteness. She was like a bird herself in all her brown.
When the dish was empty, she turned it upside down, and spread her hands to show that there was nothing more. On the Saturday night when she had waited on the table, Richard had noticed the loveliness of her hands. They were small and white, and without rings. Yet in spite of their smallness and whiteness, he knew that they were useful hands, for she had served well at Bower's. And now he knew that they were kindly hands, for she had fed the birds who had come begging to her door.
Peggy joined her, and the two came out the gate together. Anne looking across saw Richard. She hesitated, then crossed the road.
He at once went to meet her. She flushed a little as she spoke to him. "Peggy and I want to ask a favor. We've always had our little Twelfth Night play in the Crossroads stable. And we had planned for it this year--you see, we didn't know that you were coming."
"And we were afraid that you wouldn't want us," Peggy told him.
"I told the children that they mustn't be disappointed if we were not able to do this year as we had done before. I felt that with people in the house, it might not be pleasant for them to have us coming in such a crowd."
"It will be pleasant, and mother will be much interested. I wish you'd come up and tell us about it."
She shook her head. "Peggy and I have just time to get back to Bower's for our dinner."
Peggy went reluctantly. "I think he is perfectly lovely," she said, at a safe distance. "Don't you?"
Anne's reply was guarded. "He is very kind. I am glad that he doesn't mind about the Twelfth Night play, Peggy."
Richard spoke to David of Anne as the two men, a few minutes later, climbed the hill toward David's house.
"She is the best teacher we have ever had, but she ought not to be at Bower's. She isn't their kind."