bright's garden, thyme and southernwood, herbs by the path-side,
clumps of brave chrysanthemums, a wandering spray or two of late-blooming
honeysuckle. Judith trembled and locked her teeth together in anguish as
she remembered that other night in the odorous dusk when she and Creed
had stood under these trees and sought in the darkness for the bush of
sweet-scented shrub.

The empty house bulked big and black before them in the gloom. She took
the key from her pocket and opened the front door, Pendrilla and Cliantha
clinging to her in an ecstasy of delicious terror. She stepped into the
front room, struck a match, and lighted her candle. It was half-past
eleven by the small nickel alarm-clock which she carried. Its busy,
bustling, modern tick roused strange, incongruous echoes in the old
house, and reproved their errand.

Speaker made himself at home, coming in promptly, seeking out the corner
he preferred, and turning around dog-fashion before he lay down and
composed himself to half-waking slumbers.

"I reckon in here will be the best place," murmured Cliantha, seeking a
candlestick from the mantel for their light. "We could set around this
table."

"It's more better ef we-all set on the flo'," reminded Pendrilla
doubtfully. "Don't ye ricollect? all the dumb suppers we ever hearn tell
of was held thataway. Set on the flo' and put yo' bread and salt on the
flo' in front of you."

"Mebbe that's becaze they was held in desarted houses, and most generally
desarted houses don't have no tables nor chairs in 'em," Cliantha
speculated.

From the moment the lantern revealed the room to them, Judith had stood
drawn back against the wall curiously rigid, her hand at her lip, her
over-bright eyes going swiftly from one remembered object to another.
This fleeting gaze fixed itself at last on the inner door.

"I'll go in the other room a minute for--for something," she whispered
finally. "You gals set here. I'll be right back. I've got two candles."

She lighted the second candle, left the girls arranging the dumb supper,
and stole, as though some one had called her, into that room which she
had made ready for Creed's occupancy on the night of the play-party. It
had reverted to its former estate of dust and neglect. She looked about
her with blank, desolate eyes which finally found upon the bed a withered
brown something that held her gaze as she crept toward it--the wreath of
red roses!

There it was, the pitiful little