eaned forward and stared. An
old-fashioned brougham was being drawn slowly by a very fat old white
horse into the too narrow space between the hearse and Briggs's car.
Seated in the brougham was the erect figure of a very thin old man. His
hair showed beneath his high silk hat like a stiff white ruff on his
neck. His hands were clasped over a gold-headed cane. His whole
appearance was one of extreme dignity and reverence. The procession at
once took on the decent air of mourning.

"Judge Regis! What's he got to do with this, I'd like to know!" growled
Briggs.

After the brief service at the grave the company scattered. The men
gathered in groups talking in rumbling undertones. The women wandered
along the flowering paths.

"We must do something about that baby's grave over there. The violets
are not blooming as they should. The ground needs mulching," said Mrs.
Sasnett, who was the president of the Woman's Civic League and Cemetery
Association.

"I think we made a mistake to trim that crimson rambler so close in the
Coleman lot. It is not blooming so well this year," said Mrs. Acres.

"No place for a crimson rambler, anyhow. I told Agatha she should have
planted a white rose."

"If we are to take care of this cemetery, I think we should have
something to say about what is planted here, anyhow," added Mrs. Acres
petulantly.

"We will have. There's been a committee appointed to draw up resolutions
covering that," answered Mrs. Sasnett, who was also a firm woman.

"I hope Sarah Mosely has left something to the Civic League and Cemetery
Association," said another woman walking behind.

"I doubt it, she had no public spirit. We could never interest her in
the work. Such a pity."

"And in these days when women are taking hold and doing things. I
called on her myself when we were putting out plants along the railroad
embankment beside the station and asked her for a contribution, even if
it was only a few dozen nasturtiums. But she said she wasn't
interested."

"I wonder what she has done with her money. Nobody seems to know."

They stood staring back at the grave, which was now deserted except for
the sexton's men, who were filling it, and a tall thin old man who stood
with his head bare, leaning upon his cane with an air of reverence.
Beneath the coffin lid below Sarah Mosely lay with her hands folded,
faintly smiling like a little withered girl who has done something, left
a curious deed which was to puzzle