They sat looking out over the field; the horizon sky stretched out
infinitely in straight blue lines; one could imagine he saw it melt
into the sea which lay beyond; the field itself, with its smooth
level of young grass, was like a waveless green sea. A white road lay
on the left, and a man was walking on it with a weary, halting gait;
he carried a tin dinner-pail, which dipped and caught the western
sunlight at every step. A cow lowed, and a pair of white horns tossed
over some bars at the right of the field; a boy crossed it with long,
loping strides and preliminary swishes of a birch stick. Then a
whistle blew with a hoarse musical note, and a bell struck six times.

Lois freed her hand and got up. "I guess I must go," said she. Her
cheeks were blushing softly as she put on her hat.

"Well, I should like to sit here an hour longer, but maybe your aunt
will think it's growing damp for you to be out-of-doors," said
Francis, standing up.

As they went between the graves, he caught her hand again, and led
her softly along. When they reached the gate, he dropped it with a
kindly pressure.

"Now remember, you are going to cheer up," he said, "and you're going
to have real nice times here in Elliot." When they reached the
Maxwell house, his aunt was coming down the walk.

"Oh, there you are!" she called out. "I was jest goin' home. Well,
what did you think of the Mason monument, Lois?"