a vague, disconnected
way she associated him with Death. M'ri went to the child's bedside
that night and explained the situation. "Poor Davey is all alone, now,
and very unhappy, so we must be kind to him. I told him you were to be
his little sister."

Then M'ri took David to a gabled room, at each end of which was a
swinging window--"one for seeing the sun rise, and one for seeing it
set," she said, as she turned back the covers from the spotless white
bed. She yearned to console him, but before the mute look of grief in
his big eyes she was silent.

"I wish he would cry," she said wistfully to Barnabas, "he hasn't shed
a tear since his mother died."

No sooner had the sound of her footsteps ceased than David threw off
his armor of self-restraint and burst into a passion of sobs, the
wilder for their long repression. He didn't hear the patter of little
feet on the floor, and not until two mothering arms were about his
neck did he see the white-robed figure of Janey.

"Don't cry, Davey," she implored, her quivering red mouth against his
cheek. "I'm sorry; but I am your little sister now, so you must love
me, Davey. Aunt M'ri told me so."

CHAPTER III

The lilac-scented breeze of early morning blowing softly through the
vine-latticed window and stirring its white draperies brought David to
wakefulness. With the first surprise at the strangeness of his
surroundings came a fluttering of memory. The fragrance of lilacs was
always hereafter to bring back the awfulness of this waking moment.

He hurriedly dressed, and went down to the kitchen where M'ri was
preparing breakfast.

"Good morning, David. Janey has gone to find some fresh eggs. You may
help her hunt them, if you will."

Knowing the haunts of hens, he went toward the currant bushes. It was
one of those soft days that link late spring and dawning summer. The
coolness of the sweet-odored air, the twitter of numberless dawn
birds, the entreating lowing of distant cattle--all breathing life and
strength--were like a resurrection call to David.

On the east porch, which was his retreat for a smoke or a rest between
the intervals of choring and meals, Barnabas sat, securely wedged in
by the washing machine, the refrigerator, the plant stand, the churn,
the kerosene can, and the lawn mower. He gazed reflectively after
David.

"What are you going to hev Dave do to help, M'ri?"

M'ri came to the door and considered a moment.

"First of all, Barnab