e started for church. He never comes to the
cemetery on Sunday MORNING."

"I can't help it, he's coming now. And there's some one with him, or
coming after him. It looks like--Yes, it's Raish Pulcifer."

Miss Hallett was very much distressed. "Oh, dear, dear, dear!" she
cried. "If father finds us there will be another dreadful time. And
I wouldn't have Raish Pulcifer see and hear it, of all people in the
world. Oh, WHAT made father come? Nelson, can't we run away before he
gets here? Into the pines, or somewhere?"

"No chance, Lulie. He would see us sure. If he should stop at the other
end of the cemetery it might give us a chance, but he probably won't.
He'll come to your mother's grave and that is close by here. Oh, hang
the luck!"

Galusha looked at the young people; he was almost as distressed as they
were. He liked young Howard; the latter had been very kind to him on
the fateful Friday afternoon when he had alighted at South Wellmouth.
He liked Lulie, also--had fancied her at first sight. He wished he might
help them. And then he had an idea.

"I wouldn't--ah--interfere in your affairs for the world, Miss
Hallett," he faltered, "but if I might--ah--offer a suggestion, suppose
I--ah--meet your father and talk with him for a few moments. Then you
might--so to speak--ah--go, you know."

"Yes, of course, of course. Oh, WILL you, Mr. Bangs? Thank you so much."

Galusha climbed the bank. There was no one in sight, but he heard
masculine voices from the hollow beyond the farther end of the cemetery.
He hastened to that end and, stooping, began to examine the inscription
upon a tomb.

The voices drew nearer as the men climbed the hill. The breeze now was
stronger than ever and was blowing more from the west. The conversation,
borne by the gusts, came to Galusha's ears clearly and distinctly. One
of the speakers seemed to be explaining, urging, the other peremptorily
refusing to listen.

"But, Cap'n Jeth," urged the first voice, and Mr. Bangs recognized it as
belonging to his obliging guide and pilot of the fateful Friday evening,
Mr. Horatio Pulcifer. "But, Cap'n Jeth," said Mr. Pulcifer, "don't fly
off the handle for nothin'. I ain't tryin' to put nothin' over on you.
I'm just--"

"I don't want to hear you," broke in the second voice, gruffly. "This
is the Lord's Day and I don't want to talk business with you or nobody
else--especially with you."

For some reason this seemed to irritate Mr. Pulcifer. His to