"No chance, Lulie. He would see us sure. If he should stop at the other
end of the cemetery it might give us a chance, but he probably won't.
He'll come to your mother's grave and that is close by here. Oh, hang
the luck!"

Galusha looked at the young people; he was almost as distressed as they
were. He liked young Howard; the latter had been very kind to him on
the fateful Friday afternoon when he had alighted at South Wellmouth.
He liked Lulie, also--had fancied her at first sight. He wished he might
help them. And then he had an idea.

"I wouldn't--ah--interfere in your affairs for the world, Miss
Hallett," he faltered, "but if I might--ah--offer a suggestion, suppose
I--ah--meet your father and talk with him for a few moments. Then you
might--so to speak--ah--go, you know."

"Yes, of course, of course. Oh, WILL you, Mr. Bangs? Thank you so much."

Galusha climbed the bank. There was no one in sight, but he heard
masculine voices from the hollow beyond the farther end of the cemetery.
He hastened to that end and, stooping, began to examine the inscription
upon a tomb.

The voices drew nearer as the men climbed the hill. The breeze now was
stronger than ever and was blowing more from the west. The conversation,
borne by the gusts, came to Galusha's ears clearly and distinctly. One
of the speakers seemed to be explaining, urging, the other peremptorily
refusing to listen.