turned
to her and said:

'Now, one word, Miss Tracy, about Hal. I hain't one to go halves in any
thing, and I was meaner to him than pussly; but you'll see what I'll do.
I've met with a change, I swow, I have,' and he laid his lavender kid on
his stomach. 'He never took them diamonds, nor May Jane's pin, nor
nothin', and I've blasted it all over town that he didn't, and I've got
a kerridge hired, and some chaps, and a brass band, and a percession,
and when Hal comes, there's to be an oblation to the depot, with the
bugle a playin' "Hail to the Chief," and them hired chips a histen' him
inter the kerridge, with the star-spangled banner a floatin' over it,
and a drawin' him home without horses! What do you think of that for
high?' and he chuckled merrily as he represented the programme he had
prepared for Harold's reception.

Jerrie shuddered, mentally hoping that Harold's coming might be at
night, and unheralded, so as to save him from what she knew would fill
him with disgust.

That call of Peterkin's was the last of a congratulatory nature made at
Tracy Park for weeks, for the shadow of death had entered the grand old
house, the doors and windows of which stood wide open, one lovely
September morning, about a week after Arthur's return. But there was no
stir or sign of life, except in the upper hall, near the door, and in
the room where Maude Tracy was dying. Jerrie had been with her
constantly for two or three days, and the converse the two had held
together would never be forgotten, Maude was so peaceful and happy, so
sure of the home beyond, where she was going, and so lovely and sweet to
those around her, thinking of everything and planning everything, even
whose hands were to lower her into the grave.

'Dick, and Fred, and Billy, and Harold,' she said to Jerrie, one day,
'Something tells me Harold will be here in time for that; and if he is,
I want those four to put me in the grave. They can lift me, for I shall
not be very heavy,' and, with a smile, she held up her wasted arms and
hands, not as large now as a child's. 'And, Jerrie,' she went on, 'I
want the grave lined with boughs from our old playing place--the four
pines, you know--and many, many flowers, for I shudder at the thought of
the cold earth which would chill me in my coffin. So, heap the grave
with flowers, and come often to it, and think lovingly of me, lying
there alone. I am thinking so much of that poem Harold read me long ago
of poor little