nt Mrs
Pinhorn at once asked another question. For it was Mrs Wishing, who,
running in as usual to borrow something, had found Mrs White on May
morning sitting peacefully in her chair, quite dead.

"And it do strike so mournful," she repeated, "to think of the child
junketing up on the hill, and May Queen an' all, an' that poor soul an
alone."

"It's a thing one doesn't rightly understand, that is," said Mrs
Pinhorn, "why both Lilac's parents should have been took so sudden."
She gave a sharp glance round the room--"I suppose," she added, "the
Greenways'll have the sticks. There's a goodish few, and well kep'.
Mary White was always one for storing her things."

"I never heard of no other kin," said Mrs Wishing.

"Lilac's lucky to get a home like Orchards Farm. But there! Some is
born lucky."

The conversation continued in the same strain until Mrs Wishing
discovered that she must go home and get Dan'l's supper ready.

"An' it's time I was starting too," added Mrs Pinhorn. "I've got a
goodish bit to walk."

They both looked hesitatingly at Lilac.

"You'll come alonger me and sleep, won't you, dearie?" said Mrs Wishing
coaxingly. "It's lonesome for you here."

But Lilac shook her head. "I'd rather bide here, thank you," was all
she said; and after trying many forms of persuasion the two women left
her unwillingly and took their way.

Lilac stood at the open door and watched them out of sight, but she was
not thinking of them at all, though she still seemed to hear Mrs
Wishing's words: "It's lonesome for you here." Her head felt strange
and dizzy, almost as though she had been stunned, and it was stranger
still to find that she could not cry although Mother was dead. She knew
it very well, everyone had talked of it to her. Mr Leigh had spoken
very kind, and Mrs Leigh had given her a black frock, and all the
neighbours at the church that morning had groaned and cried and pitied
her; but Lilac herself had hardly shed a tear, though she felt it was
expected of her, and saw that people were surprised to see her so quiet.
She tried every now and then to get it into her head, and to understand
it, but she could not. It seemed to be someone else that folks spoke
of, and not Mother. As she stood by the open door, each thing her eye
rested on seemed to have something to do with her and to promise her
return. There was the hill she had toiled up so often: surely she would
come again with a tired footstep, b