her hands. She looked so
commonplace, if her height and nobility could ever be less august, that
Nan felt a sudden drop in her own anxiety. Tira called to them.

"Couldn't you come in a minute? I'd be pleased to have you."

They went up the path, and when they stood at the foot of the steps,
confronting her, Nan saw how she had changed. And yet not tragically:
she was merely, one would have said, entirely calm, the stillest thing
in that pageant of the moving day.

"I'd be pleased," she said, "if you'd walk in."

She looked at Nan, and Charlotte at once turned away, saying, as she
went:

"If there's anything--well, I'll be over."

Nan and Tira went in, Nan holding Tira's hand in her earthy one.

"Let's sit here," said Nan, crossing the room to the sofa between the
side windows. She was not sure of anything about this talk except that
she must keep her hand on Tira. She noticed that the double daffies, a
great bunch of them, were lying on the table. Tira was smiling faintly.
She drew a deep breath. It sounded as if she had been holding herself up
to something and had suddenly let go.

"Seems good to set," she said. "I ain't hardly set down to-day
except----" She had it in mind to say except when she was in the car,
carrying the baby over to Mountain Brook, but it seemed too hard a thing
to say.

"If you'd just lie down," said Nan, "I'd sit here."

"No," said Tira, "I can't do that. I'm goin' over to Mountain Brook."

"Not again? Not to-day?"

"Yes, right off. I'm goin' to carry them daffies. He didn't have no
flowers, the baby didn't. I never thought on't--then. But he never had
none. He played with a daffy, 'most the last thing. I've got to git 'em
over there."

"Not to-day, Tira," urged Nan. "You wouldn't get back till after dark."

"I shouldn't come back to-night," said Tira. "The Donnyhills were real
good to me. They come to the grave. They'd admire to have me pass the
night."

"Then," said Nan, "you wait till I go home and wash my hands, and I'll
ask Mr. Raven for his car and you and I'll go over. Just we two."

"No," said Tira. "'Twouldn't do me no good to ride. When I've got
anything on my mind I can't do better'n walk it off. You let me be!"

The last was a sharp, sudden cry, like the recoil from an unlooked-for
hurt.

"I see," said Nan. "Yes, you must walk. I should want to, myself. But in
the morning, Tira--mayn't I come over after you?"

Tira considered, her eyes on Nan's hand and her o