faithfully that spring.

On the upper bank of the canal, where the sagebrush stood untouched,
Dorian that summer found the first sego blossoms. He had never observed
them so closely before nor seen their real beauty. How like Mildred they
were! He gathered a bouquet of them that Saturday afternoon as he went
home, placed them in a glass of water, and then Sunday afternoon he
wrapped them in a damp newspaper and took the bouquet with him to town.
His Sunday trips to the city were usually for the purpose of visiting
Mildred's grave. The sun shone warm that day from a blue sky as Dorian
came slowly and reverently to the plot where lay all that was earthly of
one whom he loved so well. The new headstone gleamed in white marble and
the young grass stood tender and green. Against the stone lay a bunch of
withered wild roses. Someone had been there before him that day. Whom
could it be? Her mother was not in the city, and who else would remember
the visit of the angel-being who had returned to her eternal home? A
pang shot through his heart, and he was half tempted to turn without
placing his own tribute on the grave, then immediately he knew the
thought was foolish. He took off the wrapping and placed his fresher
flowers near the more withered ones. Later that summer, he learned
only incidently that it had been Carlia who had been before him that
afternoon.

During those days, Carlia kept out of Dorian's way as much as possible.
She even avoided walking to and from school with him. He was so
absentminded even with her that she in time came to resent it in her
feelings. She could not understand that a big, very-much-alive boy
should have his mind so fixed on a dead girl that he should altogether
forget there were living ones about, especially one, Carlia Duke.