"What's what?"

"That--where the evergreen is coming up out of the ground, in the
shape of a square."

"That's the cat's grave, mum. She died jest afore Miss Hathaway
went away, and she planted the evergreen."

"I thought something was lacking," said Ruth, half to herself.

"Do you want a kitten, Miss Thorne?" inquired Hepsey, eagerly. "I
reckon I can get you one--Maltese or white, just as you like."

"No, thank you, Hepsey; I don't believe I'll import any pets."

"Jest as you say, mum. It's sorter lonesome, though, with no cat;
and Miss Hathaway said she didn't want no more."

Speculating upon the departed cat's superior charms, that made
substitution seem like sacrilege to Miss Hathaway, Ruth sat down
for a time in the old-fashioned parlour, where the shabby
haircloth furniture was ornamented with "tidies" to the last
degree. There was a marble-topped centre table in the room, and a
basket of wax flowers under a glass case, Mrs. Hemans's poems,
another book, called The Lady's Garland, and the family Bible
were carefully arranged upon it.

A hair wreath, also sheltered by glass, hung on the wall near
another collection of wax flowers suitably framed. There were