like water, and often he looked up at the white spires of bloom
with a proprietary eye, for his bees were working there with a
ferocity of industry.

He was moody and miserable, for he thought of the township of hives
that Hazel might have won for him. He comforted himself with the
thought that there would be something saved on her keep. It never
occurred to him to be sorry to lose her; in fact, there was little
reason why he should be. Each had lived a lonely, self-sufficing life;
they were entirely unsuitable companions for each other.

He wove the wet lilies, rather limp from the hot water, on to a piece
of wire taken from one of his wreath-frames.

So Hazel went to her bridal in a funeral wreath.

She awoke very tired from the crisis yesterday, but happy. She and Foxy
and the one-eyed cat, her rabbit, and the blackbird, were going to a
country far from troublous things, to the peace of Edward's love on the
slope of God's Little Mountain.

The difficulties of the new life were forgotten. Only its joys
were visible to-day. Mrs. Marston seemed to smile and smile in an
eternal loving-kindness, and Martha's heavy face wore an air of
good-fellowship. The loud winds, lulled and bearing each its gift
of balm, would blow softly round Edward's house. Frost, she thought,
would not come to God's Little Mountain as to the cold Callow.

She had not seen Reddin's rimy shoulders, nor the cold glitter of the
tombs.