, Mary had asked that Sally should go with
her to her city home. To this George willingly consented, and it was
decided that she should remain with Mrs. Mason until the bridal party
returned from the western tour they were intending to take. Sally
knew nothing of this arrangement until the morning following the
wedding, when she was told that she was not to return to the
poor-house again.

"And verily, I have this day met with a great deliverance," said she,
and tears, the first shed in many a year mingled with the old
creature's thanks for this unexpected happiness. As Mary was leaving,
she whispered in her ear "If your travels lead you near Willie's
grave, drop a tear on it for my sake. You'll find it under the buckeye
tree, where the tall grass and wild flowers grow."

George had relatives in Chicago, and after spending a short time in
that city, Mary, remembering Sally's request, expressed a desire to
visit the spot renowned as the burial place of "Willie and Willie's
father." Ever ready to gratify her slightest wish, George consented,
and towards the close of a mild autumnal day, they stopped at a small
public house on the border of a vast prairie. The arrival of so
distinguished looking people caused quite a commotion, and after duly
inspecting Mary's handsome travelling dress, and calculating its
probable cost, the hostess departed to prepare the evening meal, which
was soon forthcoming.

When supper was over, and the family had gathered into the pleasant
sitting room, George asked if there was ever a man in those parts by
the name of "Furbush."

"What! Bill Furbush?" asked the landlord.

George did not know, but thought likely that might have seen his name,
as his son was called William.

"Lud, yes," returned the landlord. "I knowed Bill Furbush well,--he
came here about the same time I did, he from Massachusetts, and I from
Varmount; but, poor feller, he was too weakly to bear much, and the
first fever he took finished him up. His old woman was as clever a
creature as ever was, but she had some high notions."

"Did she die too?" asked George.

Filling his mouth with an enormous quid of tobacco, the landlord
continued, "No, but it's a pity she didn't, for when Bill and the boy
died, she went ravin' mad, and I never felt so like cryin' as I did
when I see her a tearin' her hair an goin' on so. We kept her a spell,
and then her old man' brother's girl came for her and took her off;
and the last I heard,