herself for not staying by Annie and
watching her more closely. And was that a wrinkle in the broad expanse
of gingham across Nanny McElrath's shoulders? It was; and Mary knew
there would be some ripping and altering next week.

Oh! if she could only shut out the sight of those hateful garments! How
could she ever get herself into a reverent frame of mind surrounded by
these dismal reminders of all the work and worry of the past month?

She glanced over at the old Parrish pew and Aunt Mary's countenance of
smiling peace rebuked her. If Aunt Mary could smile, sitting lonely in
the old church thronged with memories of her dead, surely, with John by
her side and the heart of youth beating strong in her breast, she ought
not to feel like crying, especially at May Meeting service.

The church was filling rapidly, and every new arrival roused a fresh
train of vexatious memories. There was a rustle and flutter all over
the church, a great turning of heads, and good cause for it; for down
the aisle came Sam and Maria Sawyer, Sam bearing the twins, one on each
arm, their long white clothes reaching far below his knees and giving
him the appearance of an Episcopal clergyman in full vestments. And
close behind these came Sidney and his bride, the latter smiling and
blushing under a hat of white lace trimmed with bunches of purple
violets, and gowned in a suit of violet cloth, whose style carried to
every mind the conviction that it was indeed the hundred-dollar gown.

Mary touched John on the arm. She tried to speak, and could not; but
there was no need for speech. John understood the pallor of her face and
the imploring look in her eyes. He whispered a word to the children,
then he and Mary rose and passed out unnoticed.

"What's the matter?" said John in a low voice, as soon as they were
fairly outside the door.

But Mary only shook her head and walked faster toward the old rockaway,
which was standing in the shade of a tall chestnut tree. There she sank
on the ground and began laughing and sobbing, while John, thoroughly
alarmed, knelt by her, patting her on the back and saying: "There,
there, Honey; don't cry," as if he were talking to a frightened child.

The touch of his kind hands and the fresh, sweet air on her face were
quick restoratives, and in a moment or two Mary was able to speak.

"Don't look so scared, John," she gasped faintly. "There's nothing much
the matter; I'll be all right in a minute or two. I haven