t grateful acknowledgments
from Sarah Ellen Dow, some one came driving along the road in a hurry
and stopped.

"Who's that with you, Mis' Crane?" called one of their near neighbors.

"It's Sarah Ellen Dow," answered Mrs. Crane. "What's the matter?"

"I thought so, but I couldn't rightly see. Come, they are in a peck o'
trouble up to Sister Barsett's, wonderin' where you be," grumbled the
man. "They can't do nothin' with her; she's drove off everybody an'
keeps a-screechin' for you. Come, step along, Sarah Ellen, do!"

"Sister Barsett!" exclaimed both the women. Mercy Crane sank down upon
the doorstep, but Sarah Ellen stepped out upon the grass all of a
tremble, and went toward the wagon. "They said this afternoon that
Sister Barsett was gone," she managed to say. "What did they mean?"

"Gone where?" asked the impatient neighbor. "I expect 'twas one of her
spells. She's come to; they say she wants somethin' hearty for her
tea. Nobody can't take one step till you get there, neither."

Sarah Ellen was still dazed; she returned to the doorway, where Mercy
Crane sat shaking with laughter. "I don't know but we might as well
laugh as cry," she said in an aimless sort of way. "I know you too
well to think you're going to repeat a single word. Well, I'll get my
bonnet an' start; I expect I've got considerable to cope with, but I'm
well rested. Good-night, Mis' Crane, I certain did have a beautiful
tea, whatever the future may have in store."

She wore a solemn expression as she mounted into the wagon in haste
and departed, but she was far out of sight when Mercy Crane stopped
laughing and went into the house.

* * * * *

Decoration Day

I.

A week before the thirtieth of May, three friends--John Stover and
Henry Merrill and Asa Brown--happened to meet on Saturday evening at
Barton's store at the Plains. They were ready to enjoy this idle hour
after a busy week. After long easterly rains, the sun had at last come
out bright and clear, and all the Barlow farmers had been planting.
There was even a good deal of ploughing left to be done, the season
was so backward.

The three middle-aged men were old friends. They had been
school-fellows, and when they were hardly out of their boyhood the war
came on, and they enlisted in the same company, on the same day, and
happened to march away elbow to elbow. Then came the great experience
of a great war, and the years that followed their