, now wept for her loss.

From the town of Canandaigua she walked beside the winding river and
entered Manchester from the west at the hour when the May dusk was
melting into moonlight.

The public road, then as now, was lined with elms and many an
apple-tree. The dusk of the elm branches was flecked with half-grown
fluttering leaves, and the outline of the apple branches was heavy with
blossom. The air was sweet in the shade of the night-folded petals, the
perfume bringing involuntarily the thought of the hum of bees which had
gone to rest. There were some new houses on the road, but the tide of
progress had here ebbed, leaving the once ambitious village like a rock
pool, beautified only by those ornaments of nature which thrive in
stillness. There was more on the road of gable and shrub and tree which
was familiar than of objects strange to her eye. The few people who were
abroad gave her scarcely a glance, the half light veiling all that was
foreign in her garb. The round moon hung above the willows of the river.

When she came in sight of the white Baptist meeting-house she scanned
its homely appearance as one looks at the face of an old friend. The
yellow light within was put out as she approached. Out of the door a
group of men were issuing as if from some evening service.

What vivid memories the scene brought her!--memories of her uncle
singing psalms with slow and solemn demeanour, of her aunt's high and
more emotional voice, of the pew in which as a girl she had sat between
them, listless and impatient, wondering at times why Ephraim remained at
home.

Her uncle and aunt were now lying in the graveyard. She paused a moment
at the thought, looking at the small host of modest headstones
surrounded by wild-flowers and half-fledged shrubs. It has never been
the custom in Manchester to cultivate God's acre. Above, the branches of
the nut-trees stretched themselves in the sweet spring air--they too
were just leafing.

Standing by the low, unpainted rail, Susannah wondered in what part of
the yard her aunt and uncle lay.

She observed that the small coterie of deacons had passed on to the road
and dispersed, leaving only one of their number, who was locking the
main door with an air of responsibility. Susannah did not look twice;
she knew that this man was Ephraim. He stooped slightly to fit the key
in the lock; then, evidently having forgotten something, pushed the door
again and went inside.

Susannah did