The Old Lady lay awake all one moonlit night and cried for very heartache . She even forgot her body hunger in her soul hunger ; and the Old Lady had been hungry , more or less , all that week . She was living on store biscuits and water , so that she might be able to pay Crooked Jack for digging her garden . When the pale , lovely dawn-colour came stealing up the sky behind the spruces , the Old Lady buried her face in her pillow and refused to look at it . `` I hate the new day , '' she said rebelliously . `` It will be just like all the other hard , common days . I do n't want to get up and live it . And , oh , to think that long ago I reached out my hands joyfully to every new day , as to a friend who was bringing me good tidings ! I loved the mornings then -- sunny or gray , they were as delightful as an unread book -- and now I hate them -- hate them -- hate them ! '' But the Old Lady got up nevertheless , for she knew Crooked Jack would be coming early to finish the garden . She arranged her beautiful , thick , white hair very carefully , and put on her purple silk dress with the little gold spots in it . The Old Lady always wore silk from motives of economy . It was much cheaper to wear a silk dress that had belonged to her mother than to buy new print at the store . The Old Lady had plenty of silk dresses which had belonged to her mother . She wore them morning , noon , and night , and Spencervale people considered it an additional evidence of her pride . As for the fashion of them , it was , of course , just because she was too mean to have them made over . They did not dream that the Old Lady never put on one of the silk dresses without agonizing over its unfashionableness , and that even the eyes of Crooked Jack cast on her antique flounces and overskirts was almost more than her feminine vanity could endure . In spite of the fact that the Old Lady had not welcomed the new day , its beauty charmed her when she went out for a walk after her dinner -- or , rather , after her mid-day biscuit . It was so fresh , so sweet , so virgin ; and the spruce woods around the old Lloyd place were athrill with busy spring doings and all sprinkled through with young lights and shadows . Some of their delight found its way into the Old Lady 's bitter heart as she wandered through them , and when she came out at the little plank bridge over the brook down under the beeches , she felt almost gentle and tender once more .
There was one big beech there , in particular , which the Old Lady loved XXXXX reasons best known to herself -- a great , tall beech with a trunk like the shaft of a gray marble column and a leafy spread of branches over the still , golden-brown pool made beneath it by the brook .
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