"I can't take him up there this afternoon," objected Mr. Perkins.

"Well, then, keep him over Sunday yourself; he's good as a
kitten. John Winslow'll hear o' Sal's death sooner or later,
unless he's gone out of the state altogether, an' when he knows
the boy's at the poor farm, I kind o' think he'll come and claim
him. Could you drive me over to the village to see about the
coffin, and would you children be afraid to stay here alone for a
spell?" she asked, turning to the girls.

"Afraid?" they both echoed uncomprehendingly.

Lizy Ann and Mr. Perkins, perceiving that the fear of a dead
presence had not entered the minds of Rebecca or Emma Jane, said
nothing, but drove off together, counseling them not to stray far
away from the cabin and promising to be back in an hour.

There was not a house within sight, either looking up or down the
shady road, and the two girls stood hand in hand, watching the
wagon out of sight; then they sat down quietly under a tree,
feeling all at once a nameless depression hanging over their gay
summer-morning spirits.

It was very still in the woods; just the chirp of a grasshopper
now and then, or the note of a bird, or the click of a
far-distant mowing machine.

"We're WATCHING!" whispered Emma Jane. "They watched with Gran'pa
Perkins, and there was a great funeral and two ministers. He left