day," said Lizy Ann Dennett.

"Her soul passed upward to its God Just at the break of day."

These words came suddenly into Rebecca's mind from a tiny chamber where
such things were wont to lie quietly until something brought them to the
surface. She could not remember whether she had heard them at a funeral
or read them in the hymn book or made them up "out of her own head," but
she was so thrilled with the idea of dying just as the dawn was breaking
that she scarcely heard Mrs. Dennett's conversation.

"I sent for Aunt Beulah Day, an' she's be'n here an' laid her out,"
continued the long suffering Lizy Ann. "She ain't got any folks, an'
John Winslow ain't never had any as far back as I can remember. She
belongs to your town and you'll have to bury her and take care of
Jacky--that's the boy. He's seventeen months old, a bright little
feller, the image o' John, but I can't keep him another day. I'm all
wore out; my own baby's sick, mother's rheumatiz is extry bad, and my
husband's comin' home tonight from his week's work. If he finds a child
o' John Winslow's under his roof I can't say what would happen; you'll
have to take him back with you to the poor farm."

"I can't take him up there this afternoon," objected Mr. Perkins.

"Well, then, keep him over Sunday yourself; he's good as a kitten. John
Winslow'll hear o' Sal's death sooner or later, unless he's gone out of
the state altogether, an' when he knows the boy's at the poor farm, I
kind o' think he'll come and claim him. Could you drive me over to the
village to see about the coffin, and would you children be afraid to
stay here alone for a spell?" she asked, turning to the girls.

"Afraid?" they both echoed uncomprehendingly.

Lizy Ann and Mr. Perkins, perceiving that the fear of a dead presence
had not entered the minds of Rebecca or Emma Jane, said nothing, but
drove off together, counseling them not to stray far away from the cabin
and promising to be back in an hour.

There was not a house within sight, either looking up or down the shady
road, and the two girls stood hand in hand, watching the wagon out of
sight; then they sat down quietly under a tree, feeling all at once a
nameless depression hanging over their gay summer-morning spirits.

It was very still in the woods; just the chirp of a grasshopper now
and then, or the note of a bird, or the click of a far-distant mowing
machine.

"We're WATCHING!" whispered Emma Jane. "They watched with Gran'