itting down again in momentary despair, "we've gone
back thirty-five years, but we forgot to take Englefield with us!"

It did not take long, however, to adapt themselves to the new
conditions. They arranged to stay at the inn that was farthest from the
centre of things, and the drive out restored some of the former look of
the place. It was near sunset; the road looked pink before them as they
left the city. The boys had set fire to little piles of early fallen
leaves along the sides of the streets, and a faint, pungent smoke hung
about and melted into the twilight, and the flame leaped forth vividly
now and then from the dusky heaps. As they left the paved city for the
old inn which modern travel and enterprise had left on the outskirts,
the sky showed lavender through a mistiness that was hardly palpable
enough for haze. The browns and reds of the patches of woods in the near
distance seemed the paler, steadier reproduction of the flames behind
them. Low on the horizon the clouds lay in purple waves, deepening and
darkening into brown.

"Mary," said Lucy Eastman, in a low tone, laying her hand on her
companion's arm, "it's just the way it looked when we came the first
time of all; do you remember?"

"Remember? It's as if it were yesterday! Oh, Lucy, I don't know about a
new heaven, but I'm glad, I'm glad it isn't a 'new earth' quite yet!"
There was a mistiness in the eyes of the women that none of the changes
they had marked had brought there. They were moved by the sudden sweet
recognition that seemed sadder than any change.

The next morning they left the house early, that they might have long
hours in which to hunt up old haunts and renew former associations.
Again the familiar look of things departed as they wandered about the
wider, gayer streets. The house in which Mary Leonard's cousins had
lived had been long in other hands, and the occupants had cut down the
finest of the old trees to make room for an addition, and a woman whose
face seemed provokingly foreign to the scene came out with the air of a
proprietor and entered her carriage as they passed.

At another place which they used to visit on summer afternoons, and
which had been approached by a little lane, making it seem isolated and
distant, the beautiful turf had been removed to prepare a bald and
barren tennis court, and they reached it by an electric car. Even the
little candy-shop had become a hardware store.

"Of course, when one thinks of t