side and pondered over all the hours and days until she
died. For there would be no other day like it.

The dusk fell and the sounds of night began to rise in their poignant
summoning of memory and hope. The past and the present seemed one to her
in a beautiful dream; yet it was not so much a dream as life itself, a
warm reality. Presently there came the slow thud of horse's feet, and
the chaise turned in at the yard. Old lady Knowles was in it, sitting
prettily erect, as she had driven away, and Ann was peering forward, as
she always did, to see if the house had burned down in their absence.
John Trueman, who lived "down the road," was lounging along behind. They
had called him as they passed, and bade him come to "tend the horse."
Amelia rose and shook herself free from the web of her dream. She
hurried forward and at the horse-block offered old lady Knowles her
hand.

"Anything happened?" asked old Ann, making her way past to the kitchen.

Amelia only smiled at her, but she followed old lady Knowles in at the
porch-door.

"We've had a very enjoyable day, Amelia," said the old lady, untying her
bonnet-strings. "Suppose you lay this on the table. Ann must brush it
before it's put away. What is it? Child, child, what is it?"

Amelia had taken a fold of her old friend's skirt. It would have seemed
to her a liberty to touch her hand.

"Mis' Knowles," she said, "I've had company. 'Twas somebody to see me,
an' I got dinner here, an' supper, too, an' I used your best tablecloth,
an' I'm goin' to do it up so 't Ann won't know. An' I acted for all the
world as if 'twas my own house."

Old lady Knowles laughed a little. She had never been a woman to whom
small things seemed large, and now very few things were of any size at
all.

"Who was it, Amelia?" she asked. "Who was your company?"

There was a moment's silence, and Amelia heard her own heart beat. But
she answered quietly,--

"'Twas Jared Beale."

There was silence again while old lady Knowles thought back over the
years. When she spoke, her voice was very soft and kindly.

"You are a good girl, Amelia. You've always been a good girl. Run home,
child, now, and come to-morrow. Good-night."

Amelia, out in the path a moment afterwards, the tablecloth under her
arm, could hardly believe in what had surely happened to her. Old lady
Knowles had bent forward to her; her soft lips had touched Amelia's
cheek.

HIS FIRST WIFE

It seemed to Lydia Gale tha