self and was a model of crisp action, had no thoughts at all. To Nan
it was a long interval from the moment of stopping before the little
gray Donnyhill house (and rousing more squalid Donnyhills than you would
have imagined in an underground burrow of wintering animals), through
indignities they had to show Tira's body, the hopeless effort of rousing
it again to its abjured relations with an unfriendly world. And while
they worked on the tenant-less body, the Donnyhill boy, a giant with a
gentle face, said he could drive, and was sent with Raven's car to the
farmer who had a telephone, and the doctor came and Nan heard herself
explaining to him that she woke up worried over Tira, because Tira had
spoken of the stepping stones. The doctor shook his head over it all.
The woman had been almost beside herself after the child's death.
Perfectly quiet about it, too. But that was the kind. Nan didn't think
she had any intention--any design?--and Nan hastened to say Tira had
told why she was going, told it quite simply. She had forgotten to give
the child any flowers. Of course, that did show how wrought up she was.
And there were the stepping stones. They were always tricky. Here the
doctor brought up old Moosewood, and said there were queer things. When
you came to think of it, New England's a queer place. Suicide? No!
Inquest? No! He guessed he knew. Then he went away and promised to send
the other man who would be the last to meddle with the body of Tira.

The Donnyhill house was still, for all the children, with consolatory
chunks of bread in hand, had been sent off into the spacious playing
places about them. Mrs. Donnyhill, who looked like a weather-worn gypsy,
went about muttering to herself passionately sorrowful lamentations:
"God help us! poor creatur'! poor soul!" and she and Nan bathed Tira's
body--somehow they were glad to wash off the river water--and put on it
a set of clothes Nan suspected of being Mrs. Donnyhill's only decent
wear. For the folded garments were all by themselves in the bedroom
bureau, and it was true that the women in this region had forethought
for a set to be buried in. When this was over and before the coming of
the other man who was to have rights over Tira's body, Mrs. Donnyhill
remembered Raven and Nan might not have breakfasted, and gave them bread
and strong tea--brewed over night, it seemed to have been. They ate and
drank, and she moved about tucking children's tyers and sweaters into