We wasn't mor'n out o' the house when we heard a shout, an' there come
Silas an' Timothy, tearin' along full tilt in the store delivery wagon,
wavin' their arms.

"'It's Elspie--Elspie!' they yelled, when they was in hearin'. 'She
ain't to the depot. She'll be left. Where is she?'

"I hadn't counted on their comin' before the train left, but I thought I
see my way clear. An' when they come up to us, I spoke to 'em, quiet.

"'She's in the house, asleep,' s'I, 'an' what's more, in that house
she's goin' to stay as long as she wants. But,' s'I, without waitin' for
'em to bu'st out, 'there's more important business than that afoot for
the marshal;' an' then I told 'em about Sum Merriman's flowers. 'An','
s'I, 'you'd better come an' see about that now--an' let Eppleby an' the
others take down the inmates, an' you go after 'em on the 8.05. It ain't
often,' s'I, crafty, 'that we get a thief in Friendship.'

"I hed Timothy Toplady there, an' he knew it. He's rill sensitive about
the small number o' arrests he's made in the village in his term. He
excited up about it in a minute.

"'Blisterin' Benson!' he says, 'ain't this what they call vandalism?
Look at it right here in our midst like a city!' says he, fierce--an'
showin' through some gleeful.

"'Why, sir,' says Silas Sykes, 'mebbe it's them human _goals_. Mebbe
they've dug Sum up,' he says, 'an mebbe--' But I hushed him up. Silas
Sykes always grabs on to his thoughts an' throws 'em out, dressed or
undressed. He ain't a bit o' reserve. Not a thought of his head that he
don't part with. If he had hands on his forehead, you could tell what
time he is--I think you could, anyway.

"Well, it was rill easy to manage 'em, they bein' men an' susceptible to
fascinations o' lawin' it over somethin'. An' we all got into the
delivery wagon, an' Eb, he come too, sittin' in back, listenin' an'
noddin', his feet hangin' over the box informal.

"I allus remember how the cemetery looked that mornin'. It was the tag
end o' June--an' in June cemeteries seems like somewheres else. The
Sodality hed been tryin' to get a new iron fence, but they hadn't made
out then, an' they ain't made out now--an' the old whitewashed fence an'
the field stone wall was fair pink with wild roses, an' the mulberry
tree was alive with birds, an' the grass layin' down with dew, an' the
white gravestones set around, placid an' quiet, like other kind o' folks
that we don't know about. Mis' Fire Chief Merriman, s