ed the
parson turn leaf after leaf until the final one was reached. Then came
the last hymn, when the people stretched their aching limbs, and rising,
turned their backs on the minister and faced the choir. Patty looked
at Waitstill and wished that she could put her throbbing head on her
sisterly shoulder and cry,--mostly with rage. The benediction was said,
and with the final "Amen" the pews were opened and the worshippers
crowded into the narrow aisles and moved towards the doors.

Patty's plans were all made. She was out of her pew before the Wilsons
could possibly leave theirs, and in her progress down the aisle securely
annexed her great admirer, old Dr. Perry, as well as his son Philip.
Passing the singing-seats she picked up the humble Cephas and carried
him along in her wake, chatting and talking with her little party while
her father was at the horse-sheds, making ready to go home between
services as was his habit, a cold bite being always set out on the
kitchen table according to his orders. By means of these clever
manoeuvres Patty made herself the focus of attention when the Wilson
party came out on the steps, and vouchsafed Mark only a nonchalant nod,
airily flinging a little greeting with the nod,--just a "How d'ye do,
Mark? Did you have a good time in Boston?"

Patty and Waitstill, with some of the girls who had come long distances,
ate their luncheon in a shady place under the trees behind the
meeting-house, for there was an afternoon service to come, a service
with another long sermon. They separated after the modest meal to walk
about the Common or stray along the road to the Academy, where there was
a fine view.

Two or three times during the summer the sisters always went quietly
and alone to the Baxter burying-lot, where three grassgrown graves lay
beside one another, unmarked save by narrow wooden slabs so short that
the initials painted on them were almost hidden by the tufts of clover.
The girls had brought roots of pansies and sweet alyssum, and with a
knife made holes in the earth and planted them here and there to make
the spot a trifle less forbidding. They did not speak to each other
during this sacred little ceremony; their hearts were too full when they
remembered afresh the absence of headstones, the lack of care, in the
place where the three women lay who had ministered to their father,
borne him children, and patiently endured his arbitrary and loveless
rule. Even Cleve Flanders' gra