On the porch stood an old woman clothed in a neat gingham dress and wearing a white apron and cap.

Wearing long gingham aprons they hovered over the big table where the forms were being locked up, and watched anxiously every movement of the workmen.

Later he recalled that in the sudden silence many noises disturbed the lazy hush of the Indian-summer afternoon: the rush of a motor-car on the Boston Road, the tinkle of the piano and the voice of the youth with the drugged eyes singing, "And you'll wear a simple gingham gown," from the yard below the cluck-cluck of the chickens and the cooing of pigeons.

In a gingham wrapper, with her glasses thrust up into her gray hair, she was facing a footman in livery.