n country. He rambled far, over trails strange to him, and came up
short, about 4.30 in the afternoon, in a grove of immemorial pines which
he instantly remembered to have seen before.

XVII

_A Remeeting in a Cemetery: the Unglassed Queed who loafed on
Rustic Bridges; of the Consequences of failing to tell a Lady that
you hope to see her again soon._

Fifi's grave had long since lost its first terrible look of bare
newness. Grass grew upon it in familiar ways. Rose-bushes that might
have stood a lifetime nodded over it by night and by day. Already "the
minute grey lichens, plate o'er plate," were "softening down the
crisp-cut name and date"; and the winds of winter and of summer blew
over a little mound that had made itself at home in the still city of
the dead.

Green was the turf above Fifi, sweet the peacefulness of her little
churchyard. Her cousin Sharlee, who had loved her well, disposed her
flowers tenderly, and stood awhile in reverie of the sort which the
surroundings so irresistibly invited. But the schedules of even electric
car-lines are inexorable; and presently she saw from a glance at her
watch that she must turn her face back to the city of the living.

On the little rustic bridge a hundred yards away, a man was standing,
with rather the look of having stopped at just that minute. From a
distance Sharlee's glance swept him lightly; she saw that she did not
know him; and not fancying his frank stare, she drew near and stepped
upon the bridge with a splendid unconsciousness of his presence. But
just when she was safely by, her ears were astonished by his voice
speaking her name.

"How do you do, Miss Weyland?"

She turned, surprised by a familiar note in the deep tones, looked,
and--yes, there could be no doubt of it--it was--

"Mr. Queed! Why, _how_ do you do!"

They shook hands. He removed his hat for the process, doing it with a
certain painstaking precision which betrayed want of familiarity with
the engaging rite.

"I haven't seen you for a long time," said Sharlee brightly.

The dear, old remark--the moss-covered remark that hung in the well! How
on earth could we live without it? In behalf of Sharlee, however, some
excuses can be urged; for, remembering the way she had talked to Mr.
Queed once on the general subject of failures, she found herself
struggling against a most absurd sense of embarrassment.

"No," replied Queed, replacing his hat as though following