ed it from the space immediately about the
little stone church. It was a beautiful spot, here where the sun came
through the great oaks that had never known an ax, resting upon blue
grass that had never known a plow--a spot virgin as it was before old
Lord Fairfax ever claimed it hi his loose ownership. Everything about it
spoke of quiet and gentleness.

I knew what it was that she looked upon as she turned back toward that
spot--it was one more low mound, simple, unpretentious, added to the
many which had been placed there this last century and a half; one more
little gray sandstone head-mark, cut simply with the name and dates of
him who rested there, last in a long roll of our others. The slight
figure in the dove-colored gown looked back lingeringly. It gave a new
ache to my heart to see her there.

She did not notice me as I slipped down from my saddle and fastened my
horse at the long rack. But when I called she turned and came to me with
open arms.

"Jack!" she cried. "My son, how I have missed thee! Now thee has come
back to thy mother." She put her forehead on my shoulder, but presently
took up a mother's scrutiny. Her hand stroked my hair, my unshaven
beard, took in each line of my face.

"Thee has a button from thy coat," she said, reprovingly. "And what is
this scar on thy neck--thee did not tell me when thee wrote, Jack, what
ails thee?" She looked at me closely. "Thee is changed. Thee is
older--what has come to thee, my son?"

"Come," I said to her at length, and led her toward the steps of the
little church.

Then I broke out bitterly and railed against our ill-fortune, and cursed
at the man who would allow her to live in servants' quarters--indeed,
railed at all of life.

"Thee must learn to subdue thyself, my son," she said. "It is only so
that strength comes to us--when we bend the back to the furrow God sets
for us. I am quite content in my little rooms. I have made them very
clean; and I have with me a few things of my own--a few, not many."

"But your neighbors, mother, the Sheratons--"

"Oh, certainly, they asked me to live with them. But I was not moved to
do that. You see, I know each rose bush and each apple tree on our old
place. I did not like to leave them.

"Besides, as to the Sheratons, Jack," she began again--"I do not wish to
say one word to hurt thy feelings, but Miss Grace--"

"What about Miss Grace?"

"Mr. Orme, the gentleman who once stopped with us a few days--"

"Oh