rner, and the procession was the
longest ever seen in Shannondale; and Dolly, even while her heart was
aching with bitter pain, felt a thrill of pride that so many were
following her daughter to the grave.

Arrived at the cemetery, there was a halt for the mourners to alight and
the bearers to take the coffins from the hearse and carry it to the
grave--a halt longer than necessary, it seemed to Jerrie, who under the
folds of her veil did not see the tall young man making his way through
the ranks of the people crowding the road, straining every nerve to
reach the hearse, which he did just as the four young men were taking
the coffin from it.

With a quick movement he put Paul Crosby aside, saying, apologetically:

'Excuse me, Paul. I must carry Maude to her grave. She wished it so.'

Then, taking the young man's place, he went slowly on to the open grave
near which piles and piles of flowers were lying ready to cover the
young girl who it was hard for him to believe was there beneath his
hand, cold and dead, with no word of welcome for him who had tried so
hard to see her, and was only in time for this, to help lay her in the
grave and to listen to the solemn words 'ashes to ashes,' and hear the
dreadful sound of earth to earth falling upon the box which held the
beautiful coffin and the lovely girl within it.

Even then Jerrie did not see him, but when she took a step or two
forward to look into the grave before it was filled up, and someone put
a hand upon her shoulder and said, 'Not too near, Jerrie,' she started
suddenly, with a suppressed cry, and turning, saw Harold standing by
her, tall, and erect, and self-possessed, as he faced the multitude,
some of whom had suspected him of a crime, but all of whom were ready
now to do him justice and bid him welcome home.

'Oh, Harold,' Jerrie said, as she grasped his arm, 'I am so glad you are
here. I wish you had come before.'

Harold could not reply, for they were now leaving the spot, and many
gathered around him; first and foremost, Peterkin, who came tramping
through the grass, puffing like an engine, and, unmindful of the time or
place, slapping him upon the shoulder, as he said: 'Well, my boy, glad
to see you back, 'pon my soul, I be; but you flustrated all my plans. I
was meanin' to give you an oblation; got it, all arranged, and you
spiled it by takin' us onawares, like a thief in the night. I beg your
pardon,' he continued, as he met a curious look in Harol