Perry, she that was buried this afternoon, Mr. Perry's mother, when she came here to live after her husband died, she sold off every stick of her old furniture, an' got the handsomest marble-top set that money could buy for her room. She got some pictures in gilt frames too, and a tapestry carpet, and vases and images for her mantel-shelf. She said folks could talk about a.s.sociations all they wanted to, she hadn't no a.s.sociations with a lot of old worm-eaten furniture; she'd rather have some that was clean an' new. H'm, anybody to hear folks talk sometimes would think they were blood-relations to old secretaries and bureaus."

Mrs. Maxwell screwed her face contemptuously, as if the talking folk were before her, and there was a pause. The young man looked across at Lois, then turned to her mother, as if about to speak, but his aunt interposed.

"Esther," said she, "I jest wanted to ask you if there wa'n't two of them old swell-front bureaus in the north chamber upstairs."

"I guess there is," replied Mrs. Field. She sat leaning forward toward her callers, with her face fairly strained into hospitable attention.

"Well, I wanted to know. I ain't come beggin', an' I'd 'nough sight rather have a good clean new one, but I'm kind of short of bureau drawers, an' I'd kind of like to have it because 'twas Thomas'. I wonder if you wouldn't jest as soon I'd have one of them bureaus?"

Mrs. Field's face gleamed suddenly. "You can have it jest as well as not," said she.

"Well, there's another thing. I kind of hate to speak about it. Flora said I shouldn't; but I said I would, whether or no. I know you'd rather I would. There's a set of blue china dishes that Nancy, that's Thomas' wife, you know, always said Flora should have when she got done with them. Thomas, he never said anything about it after Nancy died. I didn't know but he might make mention of it in the will. But we all know how that was. I ain't findin' no fault, an' I ain't begrudgin' anything."

"You can have the dishes jest as well as not," returned Mrs. Field, eagerly.

"Well, I didn't know as you'd value them much. I s'posed you'd rather get some new ones. You can get real handsome ones now for ten dollars. Silsbee's got an elegant set in his window. Of course folks that can afford them would rather have them. But I s'pose Flora would think considerable of that old set because it belonged to her aunt Nancy. There's one or two other things I was thinkin' of, but it don't matter about those to-day. It's a beautiful day, ain't it?"

"What be they?" asked Mrs. Field. "If there's anything you want, you're welcome to it."

Mrs. Maxwell glanced at her nephew. He was looking out of the window, with his forehead knitted and his lips compressed. Lois had just thought how cross he looked. "You ain't been out to see anything of the town, have you, Lois?" asked Mrs. Maxwell, sweetly.

Lois started. "No, ma'am," she said, faintly.

"You ain't been into the graveyard, I s'pose?"

"No, ma'am."

"You'd ought to go in there an' see the Mason monument. Francis, don't you want to go over there with her an' show her the Mason monument?"

Francis rose promptly.

"I guess I'd rather not," Lois said, hurriedly.

"Oh, you run right along!" cried Mrs. Maxwell. "You'll want to see the flowers on Mis' Perry's grave, too. I never saw such handsome flowers as they had, an' they carried them all to the grave. Get your hat, and run right along, it'll do you good."

"You'd better," said the young man, smiling pleasantly down at Lois.

She got up and left the room, and presently returned with her hat on.

"Don't sit down on the damp ground," Mrs. Field said as the two went out. And her voice sounded more like herself than it had done since she left Green River.

Lois walked gravely down the street beside Francis Arms. She had never had any masculine attention. This was the first time she had ever walked alone with a young man. She was full of that shy consciousness which comes to a young girl who has had more dreams than lovers, but her steady, sober face quite concealed it.

Francis kept glancing down at her, trying to think of something to say. She never looked at him, and kept her shabby little shoes pointed straight ahead on the extreme inside of the walk, as intently as if she were walking on a line. n.o.body would have dreamed how her heart, in spite of the terrible exigency in which she was placed, was panting insensibly with the sweet rhythm of youth. In the midst of all this trouble and bewilderment, she had not been able to help a strange feeling when she first looked into this young man's face. It was as if she were suddenly thrust off her old familiar places, like a young bird from its nest into s.p.a.ce, and had to use a strange new motion of her soul to keep herself from falling.

But Francis guessed nothing of this. "It's a pleasant day," he remarked as they walked along.

"Yes, sir," she replied.

The graveyard gates had been left open after the funeral. They entered, and pa.s.sed up the driveway along the wheel ruts of the funeral procession. Pink garlands of flowering-almond arched over the old graves, and bushes of bridal-wreath sent out white spikes.

Weeping-willows swept over them in lines of gold-green light, and evergreen trees stood among them as they had stood all winter. In many of these were sunken vases and bottles of spring flowers, lilacs and violets.

Lois and Francis Arms went on to the Mason monument.

"This is the one Aunt Jane was speaking about," he said, in a deferential tone.

Lois looked up at the four white marble women grouped around the central shaft, their Greek faces outlined against the New England sky.

"It was made by a famous sculptor," said Francis; "and it cost a great deal of money."

Lois nodded.

"They box it up in the winter, so it won't be injured by the weather," said Francis.

Lois nodded again. Presently they turned away, and went on to a new grave, covered with wreaths and floral devices. The fragrance of tuberoses and carnations came in their faces.

"This is the grave Aunt Jane wanted you to see," said Francis.

"Yes, sir," returned Lois.

They stood staring silently at the long mound covered with flowers.

Francis turned.

"Suppose we go over this way," said he.

Lois followed him as he strode along the little gra.s.sy paths between the burial lots. On the farther side of the cemetery the ground sloped abruptly to a field of new gra.s.s. Francis stooped and felt of the short gra.s.s on the bank.

"It's dry," said he. "I don't think your aunt would mind. Suppose we sit down here and rest a few minutes?"

Lois looked at him hesitatingly.

"Oh, sit down just a few minutes," he said, with a pleasant laugh.

They both seated themselves on the bank, and looked down into the field.

"It's pleasant here, isn't it?" said Francis.

"Real pleasant."

The young man looked kindly, although a little constrainedly, down into his companion's face.

"I hear you haven't been very well," said he. "I hope you feel better since you came to Elliot?"

"Yes, thank you; I guess I do," replied Lois.

Francis still looked at her. Her little face bent, faintly rosy, under her hat. There was a grave pitifulness, like an old woman's, about her mouth, but her shoulders looked very young and slender.

"Suppose you take off your hat," said he, "and let the air come on your forehead. I've got mine off; it's more comfortable. You won't catch cold. It's warm as summer."