out, but now
that every soul connected with the place would be indoors, she thought
she might go round the sides of the Harmon garden and see the red bird
much nearer from a place she thought of.

This place was nothing but a humble, disused, and untidy burying-ground,
that occupied the next lot in the narrow strip of land that here for a
mile divided road and river. Winifred ran over the road between the
Harmon garden and the college fence, and, climbing the log fence, stood
among the quiet gravestones that chronicled the past generations of
Chellaston. Here grass and wild flowers grew apace, and close by ran the
rippling river reflecting the violet sky above. A cemetery, every one
knows, is a place where any one may walk or sit as long as he likes, but
Winifred was surprised to find Principal Trenholme's housekeeper there
before her; and moreover, this staid, sad woman was in the very place
Winifred was going to, for she was looking through the fence that
enclosed the Harmon garden.

"Good morning, Mrs. Martha," said Winifred politely, concealing her
surprise.

"I've been milking," said the sad woman, glancing slightly at a pail of
foaming milk that she had set for greater security between two
grave-heaps.

Winifred came and took her place beside the housekeeper, and they both
looked through the paling of the Harmon property.

The tanager was still on the acacia, from this nearer point looking like
a great scarlet blossom of some cactus, so intense was the colour; but
Winifred was distracted from her interest in the bird by seeing the old
house more plainly than she had ever seen it before. It stood, a large
substantial dwelling, built not without the variety of outline which
custom has given to modern villas, but with all its doors and windows on
this side fastened by wooden shutters, that, with one or two exceptions,
were nailed up with crossbeams and overgrown with cobwebs. Winifred
surveyed it with an interested glance.

"Did you come to see him?" whispered the housekeeper.

Winifred's eye reverted to the tanager of which, on the whole, her mind
was more full. "Yes"--she whispered the word for fear of startling it.

"I should think yer ma would want you in of a morning, or Miss Sophia
would be learning you yer lessons. When I was your age--But"--sadly--"it
stands to reason yer ma, having so many, and the servant gone, and the
cows comin' in so fast these days one after t'other, that they can't
learn you