t you afraid?" she said.

"Afraid? No. What should I be afraid of? Why, it's bright moonlight!
I would just as soon go at night as in the daytime when the moon is
bright."

"That is an awful man who lives at the Ramseys'!"

"Nonsense! I guess if he tried to bother us, Mrs. Ramsey would take
care of him," said Maria. "Come along, Lily. I would ask Uncle Henry,
but it is the night when he takes his bath, and he comes home tired."

"Well, I'll go if mother will let me," said Lily.

Then Lily called to her mother, who came to the sitting-room door in
response.

"Mother," said Lily, "Maria wants me to go over to the Ramseys',
those on the other side of the river, after supper, and carry these
things to Jessy."

"Aren't you afraid?" asked Lily's mother, as Lily herself had done.
She was a faded but still pretty woman who had looked like her
daughter in her youth. She was a widow with some property, enough for
her Lily and herself to live on in comfort.

"Why, it's bright moonlight, Mrs. Merrill," said Maria, "and the
Ramseys live just the other side of the river."

"Well, if Lily isn't afraid, I don't care," said Mrs. Merrill. She
had an ulterior motive for her consent, of which neither of the two
girls suspected her. She was smartly dressed, and her hair was
carefully crimped, and she had, as always in the evening, hopes that
a certain widower, the resident physician of Amity, Dr. Ellridge,
might call. He had noticed her several times at church suppers, and
once had walked home with her from an evening meeting. Lily never
dreamed that her mother had aspirations towards a second husband. Her
father had been dead ten years; the possibility of any one in his
place had never occurred to her; then, too, she looked upon her
mother as entirely too old for thoughts of that kind. But Mrs.
Merrill had her own views, which she kept concealed behind her
pretty, placid exterior. She always welcomed the opportunity of being
left alone of an evening, because she realized the very serious
drawback that the persistent presence of a pretty, well-grown
daughter might be if a wooer would wish to woo. She knew perfectly
well that if Dr. Ellridge called, Lily would wonder why he called,
and would sit all the evening in the same room with her fancy-work,
entirely unsuspicious. Lily might even think he came to see her. Mrs.
Merrill had a measure of slyness and secrecy which her daughter did
not inherit. Lily was not brilliant, but she w