he went right
through the wet grass, cross lots an' round graves, holdin' up her
mournin' an' showin' blue beneath--kind o' secular, like her thinkin'
about the all-silk ribbin at such a time. Sure enough, she knew her way
to the lot all right. An' there was the new grave, all sodered green,
an' not a sprig nor a stitch to honour it.

"'_Now!_' says Mis' Merriman, rill triumphant.

"'Land, land!' s'I, seein' how it rilly was.

"Timothy an' Silas, they both pitched in an' talked at once an' bent
down, technical, lookin' for tracks. But Eb, he just begun seemin'
peculiar--an' then he slipped off somewheres, though we never missed
him, till, in a minute, he come runnin' back.

"'Come here!' he says. 'Come on over here a little ways,' he told us,
an' not knowin' anything better to do we turned an' went after him,
wonderin' what on the earth was the matter with him an' ready to believe
'most anything.

"Eb led us past the vault where Obe Toplady, Timothy's father, lays in a
stone box you can see through the grating tiptoe; an' round by the
sample cement coffin that sets where the drives meet for advertisin'
purposes, an' you go by wonderin' whose it'll be, an' so on over toward
the Old Part o' the cemetery, down the slope of the hill where
everybody's forgot who's who or where they rest, an' no names, so. But
it's always blue with violets in May--like Somebody remembered, anyhow.

"When we got to the top o' the hill, we all looked down the slope,
shinin' with dew an' sunniness, an' little flowers runnin' in the grass,
thick as thick, till at the foot o' the hill they fair made a garden,--a
garden about the size of a grave, knee-deep with flowers. From where we
stood we could see 'em--hothouse roses an' straw flowers, an' set
pieces, an' a lot o' pillows, an' ribbins layin' out on the grass. An'
there, side of 'em, broodin' over 'em lovin', set Elspie, that I'd
thought was in my house asleep.

"Mis' Fire Chief, she wasn't one to hesitate. She was over the hill in a
minute, the blue edge o' petticoat bannerin' behind.

"'Up-_un_ my word,' s'she, like a cut, 'if this ain't a pretty note.
What under the sun are you doin' sittin' there, Elspie, with _my_
flowers?'

"Elspie looked up an' see her, an' see us streamin' toward her over the
hill.

"'They ain't your flowers, are they?' s'she, quiet. 'They're the dead's.
I was a-goin' to take 'em back in a minute or two, anyway, an' I'll take
'em back now.'

"She got up,