straight always--but maybe that wa'n't true. Anyhow, he come less and
less, and he died away--but that was after she died. He's buried over
there, beside her and the boy. The girl--well, nobody knows where the
girl is. Girls like flowers and sunshine and laughter and young folks,
you know, and she did n't get any of them at home. So she went--where
she did get 'em, I suppose. Anyhow, nobody knows just where she is
now. . . . There, and if I have n't gone and tired you all out with my
chatter!" broke off the little gray-haired woman contritely. "I 'm
sure I don't know why I got to runnin' on so!"

"No, no--I was glad to hear it," faltered the Lady in Black, rising
unsteadily to her feet. Her face had grown white, and her eyes showed
a sudden fear. "But I must go now. Thank you." And she turned and
hurried away.

The house was very still when the Lady in Black reached home--and she
shivered at its silence. Through the hall and up the stairs she went
hurriedly, almost guiltily. In her own room she plucked at the shadowy
veil with fingers that tore the filmy mesh and found only the points of
the pins. She was crying now--a choking little cry with broken words
running through it; and she was still crying all the while her hands
were fumbling at the fastenings of her somber black dress.

Long minutes later, the Lady--in Black no longer--trailed slowly down
the stairway. Her eyes showed traces of tears, and her chin quivered,
but her lips were bravely curved in a smile. She wore a white dress
and a single white rose in her hair; while behind her, in the little
room over the porch, a tiny clock of filigree gilt ticked loudly on its
shelf at the foot of the bed.

There came a sound of running feet in the hall below; then:

"Muvver!--it's muvver come back!" cried a rapturous voice.

And with a little sobbing cry Bobby's mother opened her arms to her son.

The Saving of Dad

On the boundary fence sat James, known as "Jim"; on the stunted grass
of the neighboring back yard lay Robert, known as "Bob." In age, size,
and frank-faced open-heartedness the boys seemed alike; but there were
a presence of care and an absence of holes in Jim's shirt and
knee-breeches that were quite wanting in those of the boy on the
ground. Jim was the son of James Barlow, lately come into the
possession of the corner grocery. Bob was the son of "Handy Mike," who
worked out by the day, doing "odd jobs" for the neighboring