stable, and get down while the fresh horses are put to. The
company's stables are all alike, and open at each end with great
doors. The stable is the best house in the place; there are three or
four houses besides, and one of them is white, and has vines growing
over the front door, and hollyhocks by the front gate. Three or four
women, and as many barelegged girls, have come out to look at the
procession, and we lounge towards the group.

"It had a winder in the top of it, and silver handles," says one.

"Well, I declare; and you could 'a looked right in?"

"If I'd been a mind to."

"Who has died?" I ask.

"It's old woman Larue; she lived on Gilead Hill, mostly alone. It's
better for her."

"Had she any friends?"

"One darter. They're takin' her over Eden way, to bury her where she
come from."

"Was she a good woman?" The traveler is naturally curious to know
what sort of people die in Nova Scotia.

"Well, good enough. Both her husbands is dead."

The gossips continued talking of the burying. Poor old woman Larue!