sen, was pouring in its
light.

The farewells in the sitting-room were soon over. With many a promise to
write, with fond pats to the dogs that crowded about her hoping she
would take them on her drive, with tender kisses on the pillows of the
old canopied bed, and glances behind, she went out into the frosty air
and took her seat in the buckboard.

Her face was calm and her eyes were dry as they drove out of the yard.
She was bravely fighting down her grief at leaving, and she looked back
again and again to wave her hand to the eldest and the youngest, who
were standing outside the kitchen, swinging their hats in tardily
repentant and approving response.

At sight of the carnelian bluff, she suddenly sat very still, and a pang
shot through her heart. Looking down at the well-worn, weed-bordered
road, she remembered the November morning when, with even deeper sorrow,
she walked behind her who was never to pass through the corn again.

Opposite the bluff the biggest brother stopped the buckboard and the
little girl stepped down, crossed the half-thawed drifts that still lay
on the western slope, and went up to the graves. A brisk wind was
blowing over the plains and shaking the scent from the first wild
prairie-violets that dotted the new grass.

She paused but a moment at the pipestone cross, but beside the other
grave she knelt and looked long and lovingly at the white headboard. The
chaplain had put it up the day after the funeral, and had lettered on it
in black:

MOTHER
"Blessed are the pure in heart."

A few minutes later she joined the biggest brother, and the buckboard
hurried on. She did not look around at the house or bluff until the
highest point between the track and the farm was reached. Then, as if he
read her wish, the biggest brother again drew rein.

She stood up to look back. She could see the herd, peacefully trailing
across the river meadows in search of green feeding. Beyond lay the
awakening fields under the cold sun, the bluff, the house shining in a
new coat of red, the board barn towering over the low sod one at its
back. And she caught a glimpse of the two dark figures still standing
against the kitchen, watching her out of sight. She did not see a third,
whose pale eyes were so dim that he in turn could not see her as he
loitered mournfully by the side of a stack.

"Good-by," she said softly; "good-by." A sob came from her biggest
brother. She sank to