Barkley's information.

"I knew you would," she said, in a relieved voice. "Lydia is a dear girl. So kind and so uncomplaining! And--and faithful in her affections, William."

"Ah!" said Mr. Rives again; his smile never changed, but his eyes were keen.

"Yes," Mrs. Barkley said, boldly. "Why, William--I don't know that I ought to tell you, but do you remember a sketch of yourself that you gave her in--in other days? William, she has kept it ever since. It hangs in her parlor, (horrid, smoky room!) And she keeps a sprig of fresh box stuck in the frame."

"Really?" said Mr. Rives; and his face grew a little redder.

"That's all," Mrs. Barkley said, abruptly. "Now go. I just thought I'd mention it."

"Yes," said Mr. Rives; then added that it was a beautiful night, and politely bowed himself out.

"But he didn't say anything about giving anything," Mrs. Barkley told Dr. Lavendar the next day. And whatever romantic hopes she may have had withered under the blighting touch of such indifference.

III

Mrs. Barkley's hopes withered and then revived; for as she climbed the hill to the Stuffed-Animal House a day or two later whom should she see wandering through the graveyard (of all places!) but Lydia and William.

"Of course, I pretended not to see them," she told Harriet Hutchinson, "but I believe they've begun to take notice."

They had not seen her; the graveyard was on the crest of the hill, and the road lay below the bank and the stone wall, wherein were set two or three iron doors streaked and eaten with rust, each with its name and its big ring-bolt. There was a bleached fringe of dead gra.s.s along the top of the wall, but the bank above was growing green in the April sunshine. There were many trees in this older part of the cemetery, and even now, when the foliage was hardly more than a mist, the tombs and low mounds and old headstones were dappled with light shadows.

Miss Lydia and William had met here, by some chance; and Mrs. Barkley, climbing the road before it dipped below the bank, had caught sight of them just where the slope broke into sunshine beyond the trees. Behind them, leaning sidewise over a sunken grave, was a slate headstone, its base deep in a thatch of last year's gra.s.s; there were carved cherubs on the corners, and the inscription was blurred with lichen. A still older tomb, a slab of granite on four pedestals, made a seat for Miss Lydia. She had been deciphering its crumbling inscription:

"Mr. Amos Sm ... Sr.

Born ...... 1734 Die ... May 7th, 1802 Aged 68

"Base body, thou art faint and weak-- (How the sweet moments roll!) A mortal paleness on thy cheek, But glory in thy soul!"

William, reading it, had remarked that he thought people lived longer nowadays. "Don't you?" he added, anxiously.

"We live long enough," Miss Lydia said. "I don't want to live too long."

"You can't live too long," he told her, with his sharp smile.

Miss Lydia laughed and looked down at the crumbling stone. "I think sixty-eight was just about long enough. I'm like Dr. Lavendar; he says he 'wants to get up from the banquet of life _still hungry_.' That's the way I feel. I don't want to lose my appet.i.te for life by getting too much of it."

"I couldn't get too much," Mr. Rives said, nervously. "Let us proceed.

This place is--is not cheerful. I like cheerfulness. You always seem cheerful, Lydy?"

"Course I am," she said, getting up. "Why shouldn't I be? I haven't a care in the world."

"You don't say so!" said William Rives. "I was under the impression that your circ.u.mstances--"

"My circ.u.mstances?" said Miss Lydia. "Bless you! I haven't any.

Father didn't leave much of anything. I had $2000, but Cousin Robinson invested it and lost it. He felt so badly, I was just distressed about him."

"He should have been prosecuted!" Mr. Rives said, angrily.

Miss Lydia shook her head in horrified protest, but she beamed at him from under her black frizette, grateful for his sympathy.

"I remember," he said, thoughtfully, "that you were always light-hearted. I recall your once telling me that you began to sing as soon as you got up in the morning."

"Oh yes," Miss Lydia said, simply. "I always sing the morning hymn.

You know the morning hymn, William?

"'Awake, my soul, and with the sun Thy daily course of duty run--'"

William nodded. "Vocal exercises (if in tune and not too loud) are always cheerful," he said.

Gossiping thus of simple things, they walked back to Lydia's house and sat down in her parlor. There William told her, with a sort of whimper, that his health was bad. "I sent for w.i.l.l.y King--he is so young, he ought not to charge the full fee. I remember him as a very impudent boy," Mr. Rives said, growing red at some memory of William's youth; "however, he seems a respectable young man."

"Oh, indeed he is," said Miss Lydia; "he is a dear, good boy. I hope he is doing you good?" she ended, with eager kindness.

"Yes, I think so," he said, anxiously. And then he gave his symptoms with a detail that made poor Miss Lydia get very red. "And I don't sleep very well," he ended, sighing. "w.i.l.l.y told me to try repeating the kings of England backward, but I couldn't remember them; so it didn't do any good."

"When I don't sleep," said Miss Lydia, "I just count my blessings.

That's a splendid thing to do, because you fall asleep before you get to the end of 'em."

William sighed. "The kings of England was a foolish prescription; yet I paid w.i.l.l.y $1.50 for that call. Still, I must say I think he is doing me good; but he recommends many expensive things--perhaps because he is young. He wished me to hire a vehicle and drive every day. Now just think of the expense of such a thing! I suggested to him that instead of hiring a conveyance, I would go out with him in his buggy whenever he calls. He is a very young man to treat an important case,"

William ended, sighing. Then he asked Lydia about her health, with an exactness which she thought very kind.

"Yes, I'm always well; and _so_ sorry for the poor people who are sick," she said.

"You are a good nurse, aren't you, Lydy?" he asked.

"I'm always glad when I can do anything for a sick person. I'm so sorry for 'em," Miss Lydia said, kindly.

"And you are economical, aren't you, Lydy?" Mr. Rives inquired, in his mild voice, "and not fond of dress?"

"Bless you!" said Lydia, "how can I be anything but economical? And as for being fond of dress--I'm fond of my old dresses, William."

"That is an excellent trait," said William Rives, solemnly. Then, catching sight of his own portrait--the slim, anaemic young person in a stock and tight-waisted coat, with very small feet and very large hat, he got up to look at it. "I--have changed a little," he said, doubtfully.

"It's more becoming to be heavier," Miss Lydia said. And this remark gave him such obvious satisfaction that when he went away his perpetual smile had deepened into positive heartiness.

It was after this talk that he finally added his offering to the "Present" which just then was occupying Old Chester's attention. "And how much do you suppose I got out of him?" Mrs. Barkley asked Dr.

Lavendar. "_$1.50!_"

However, other friends were more liberal, and by the end of May the $85 (grown now into the round sum of $100) was ready for Miss Lydia. A little silk bag, with a sc.r.a.p of paper twisted about its ribbon drawing-string, was thrust one evening by an unknown hand into Miss Lydia's door. In it were twenty five-dollar gold pieces. "From old friends," Dr. Lavendar had written on the sc.r.a.p of paper.

"Sha'n't we say--'for repairs'?" Mrs. Barkley asked, doubtfully.

"No," Dr. Lavendar declared; "I'd rather say 'to buy curl-papers.' Of course she'll use it for repairs; but we mustn't dictate."

n.o.body saw Miss Lydia gasp when she opened the bag, and sit down, and then cry and laugh, but probably every friendly heart in Old Chester was busy imagining the scene, for every friend had contributed. They had all done it in their different ways--and how character confesses itself in this matter of giving! ... Mrs. Dale, who gave the largest sum, did it with calm, impersonal kindness. Martha King said that she had so many calls upon her charity that she couldn't give much, but was glad to do what she could. Miss Harriet Hutchinson said it was a first-rate idea, and she was obliged to Mrs. Barkley for letting her have a hand in it; as for Mrs. Drayton, she said it was a great trial not to contribute, but she could not do so conscientiously. "_I_ make such things a matter of prayer," she said; "some do not. I do not judge them. I never judge any one. But I take all such matters to the Throne of Grace, and as a result I feel that such things are injurious to a poor person, and so I must deny myself the pleasure of charity."