The Old Lady thought it a most beautiful June . She no longer hated the new days ; on the contrary , she welcomed them . `` Every day is an uncommon day now , '' she said jubilantly to herself -- for did not almost every day bring her a glimpse of Sylvia ? Even on rainy days the Old Lady gallantly braved rheumatism to hide behind her clump of dripping spruces and watch Sylvia pass . The only days she could not see her were Sundays ; and no Sundays had ever seemed so long to Old Lady Lloyd as those June Sundays did . One day the egg pedlar had news for her . `` The music teacher is going to sing a solo for a collection piece to-morrow , '' he told her . The Old Lady 's black eyes flashed with interest . `` I did n't know Miss Gray was a member of the choir , '' she said . `` Jined two Sundays ago . I tell you , our music is something worth listening to now . The church 'll be packed to-morrow , I reckon -- her name 's gone all over the country for singing . You ought to come and hear it , Miss Lloyd . '' The pedlar said this out of bravado , merely to show he was n't scared of the Old Lady , for all her grand airs . The Old Lady made no answer , and he thought he had offended her . He went away , wishing he had n't said it . Had he but known it , the Old Lady had forgotten the existence of all and any egg pedlars . He had blotted himself and his insignificance out of her consciousness by his last sentence . All her thoughts , feelings , and wishes were submerged in a very whirlpool of desire to hear Sylvia sing that solo . She went into the house in a tumult and tried to conquer that desire .
She could not do it , even thought she summoned all her pride XXXXX her aid .
for in into of on over pedlar to tumult with