your jaw up, and maybe yu'd have more of a job explainin' that to your
crowd than you've had makin' me see what kind of a man I've got for a
brother."

Frank found himself standing alone before any reply to these sentences
had occurred to him. He walked slowly to his club, where a friend joked
him on his glumness.

Lin made a sore failure of amusing himself that night; and in the bright,
hot morning he got into the train for Swampscott. At the graveyard he saw
a woman lay a bunch of flowers on a mound and kneel, weeping.

"There ain't nobody to do that for this one," thought the cow-puncher,
and looked down at the grave he had come to see, then absently gazed at
the woman.

She had stolen away from her daily life to come here where her grief was
shrined, and now her heart found it hard to bid the lonely place goodbye.
So she lingered long, her thoughts sunk deep in the motionless past. When
she at last looked up, she saw the tall, strange man re-enter from the
street among the tombs, and deposit on one of them an ungainly lump of
flowers. They were what Lin had been able hastily to buy in Swampscott.
He spread them gently as he had noticed the woman do, but her act of
kneeling he did not imitate. He went away quickly. For some hours he hung
about the little town, aimlessly loitering, watching the salt water where
he used to swim.

"Yu' don't belong any more, Lin," he miserably said at length, and took
his way to Boston.