this had a ray of reason shone upon poor Patsy's darkened mind. We
have said there were no tears, and yet, although the waters came not
to the surface, there was one heart which wept, as with unflinching
nerve the cold, stern woman arrayed the dead girl for the grave.

That night Mary was aroused from sleep, by some one whispering her
name in her ear, and starting up, she saw Sally bending over her.

"Come with me," said she softly, "and I'll show you the queerest sight
you ever saw."

Trembling in every joint, Mary arose and followed Sal, who led her
towards the room where Patsy lay. As she drew near the door they
paused, and by the light of the autumn moon, which streamed through
the curtained window Mary saw Miss Grundy kneeling by the cold body,
and sobbing bitterly. Once she spoke, and Mary caught the words, "My
child, my poor child."

Wonderingly she looked up to Sally for an explanation; but the crazy
woman only replied, as they returned to their rooms, "Yes,--there's
been queer doings some time or other, it's very evident; but I know
one thing, I'll never draw her profile again, and I'll call her _Mrs._
Grundy after this!"

It was hardly worth while, as the neighbors thought, to be at all the
trouble and expense of carrying a foolish girl without friends or
relatives to the graveyard, so they buried her beneath the shadow of a
wide-spreading maple, in a little inclosure where several other
unfortunate ones lay sleeping At the funeral many wondered at the
ghastly whiteness of Miss Grundy's face, and why she grasped at the