all this trouble and bewilderment, she had not been able to help a
strange feeling when she first looked into this young man's face. It
was as if she were suddenly thrust off her old familiar places, like
a young bird from its nest into space, and had to use a strange new
motion of her soul to keep herself from falling.

But Francis guessed nothing of this. "It's a pleasant day," he
remarked as they walked along.

"Yes, sir," she replied.

The graveyard gates had been left open after the funeral. They
entered, and passed up the driveway along the wheel ruts of the
funeral procession. Pink garlands of flowering-almond arched over the
old graves, and bushes of bridal-wreath sent out white spikes.
Weeping-willows swept over them in lines of gold-green light, and
evergreen trees stood among them as they had stood all winter. In
many of these were sunken vases and bottles of spring flowers, lilacs
and violets.

Lois and Francis Arms went on to the Mason monument.

"This is the one Aunt Jane was speaking about," he said, in a
deferential tone.

Lois looked up at the four white marble women grouped around the
central shaft, their Greek faces outlined against the New England
sky.

"It was made by a famous sculptor," said Francis; "and it cost a