ver Harpeth Valley from Providence Nob to
the River bend."

"No, Amandy," interrupted Aunt Viney, "it wasn't sixty years ago, it
was jest fifty-seven. Mr. Lovell brought the switch of it with him the
first year Mr. Roberts rode this circuit, and he was a-holding that
big revival over to Providence Chapel. Mr. Lovell came into the fold
with that very first night's preaching, and we all were rejoiced.
Don't you remember he brought you that Maiden Blush rose-bush over
there at the same time he brought this vine to Ma? And one bloom came
out on the rose the next year jest in time to put it in his coffin
before we buried him when he was taken down with the fever on the Road
and died here with us. Fifty-six years ago come June, and him so young
to die while so full of the spirit of the Lord!"

Feebly Miss Amanda rose to her knees and went on with the digging
around the roots of the vine, but Rose Mary knelt beside her and laid
her strong, young arm around the bent and shaking little shoulders.
Uncle Tucker rested on his spade and looked away across the garden
wall, where the little yard of graves was hid in the shadow of tall
pine trees, and his big eyes grew very tender. Miss Lavinia fingered a
shoot of the vine that had fallen across her thin old knees with a
softened expression in her prophet-woman face, while something new and
sweet stirred in Everett's breast and woke in his tired eyes, as
across half a century was wafted the perfume of a shattered romance.

And then by the time the vine had been trained Miss Lavinia had
thought of a number of other spring jobs that must be attended to
along the front walk and around all the clumps of budding shrubs, so
with one desperate glance toward the barn, his deserted haven, Uncle
Tucker fell to with his spade, while Everett obtained a fork from the
tool house and put himself under command. Rose Mary was sharply
recalled and sent into the house to complete the arrangements for the
festivities, when she had followed the forker down by the lilac hedge,
rake in hand, with evident intention of being of great assistance in
the gardening of the amateur.

"Pull the dirt up closter around those bleeding-hearts, Tucker,"
commanded Miss Lavinia from her rocker. "They are Rose Mary's I
planted the identical day she was born, and I don't want anything to
happen to 'em in the way of cutworms or such this summer."

"Well, I don't know," answered Uncle Tucker with a little chuckle in
Evere