o Abram, and when I wanted anything I went and got it, and
Abram paid for it, and I can't see but what we got on jest as well as
we'd 'a' done if I'd a-'submitted' myself."

Longer and longer grew the shadows, and the faint tinkle of bells came
in through the windows. The cows were beginning to come home. The
spell of Aunt Jane's dramatic art was upon me. I began to feel that my
own personality had somehow slipped away from me, and those dead
people, evoked from their graves by an old woman's histrionism, seemed
more real to me than my living, breathing self.

"There now, I've talked you clean to death," she said with a happy
laugh, as I rose to go. "But we've had a real nice time, and I'm glad
you come."

The sun was almost down as I walked slowly away. When I looked back,
at the turn of the road, Aunt Jane was standing on the door-step,
shading her eyes and peering across the level fields. I knew what it
meant. Beyond the fields was a bit of woodland, and in one corner of
that you might, if your eyesight was good, discern here and there a
glimpse of white. It was the old burying-ground of Goshen church; and
I knew by the strained attitude and intent gaze of the watcher in the
door that somewhere in the sunlit space between Aunt Jane's door-step
and the little country graveyard, the souls of the living and the dead
were keeping a silent tryst.

[Illustration]

II

THE NEW ORGAN

[Illustration]

"Gittin' a new organ is a mighty different thing nowadays from what it
was when I was young," said Aunt Jane judicially, as she lifted a
panful of yellow harvest apples from the table and began to peel them
for dumplings.

Potatoes, peas, and asparagus were bubbling on the stove, and the
dumplings were in honor of the invited guest, who had begged the
privilege of staying in the kitchen awhile. Aunt Jane was one of
those rare housekeepers whose kitchens are more attractive than the
parlors of other people.

"And gittin' religion is different, too," she continued, propping her
feet on the round of a chair for the greater comfort and convenience
of her old knees. "Both of 'em is a heap easier than they used to be,
and the organs is a heap better. I don't know whether the religion's
any better or not. You know I went up to my daughter Mary Frances'
last week, and the folks up there was havin' a big meetin' in the
Tabernicle, and that's how come me to be thinkin' about organs.

"The preacher was an evangelist