she ain't goin' to be _seen_." The deacons' wives were especially
disturbed by this last, as they might otherwise have gained many
interesting particulars by proxy.

Monday was the day set for the burial. Early in the morning old
Thomas Merriam walked feebly up the road to the Squire's house.
People noticed him as he passed. "How terribly fast he's grown old
lately!" they said. He opened the gate which led into the Squire's
front yard with fumbling fingers, and went up the walk to the front
door, under the Corinthian pillars, and raised the brass knocker.

Evelina opened the door, and started and blushed when she saw him.
She had been crying; there were red rings around her blue eyes, and
her pretty lips were swollen. She tried to smile at Thomas's father,
and she held out her hand with shy welcome.

"I want to see her," the old man said, abruptly.

Evelina started, and looked at him wonderingly. "I--don't believe--I
know who you mean," said she. "Do you want to see Mrs. Loomis?"

"No; I want to see her."

"_Her?_"

"Yes, _her_."

Evelina turned pale as she stared at him. There was something strange
about his face. "But--Cousin Evelina," she faltered--"she--didn't
want-- Perhaps you don't know: she left special directions that