 the drawer yet. Should she carry both these away, too? No, she
thought, as she brushed away the tears that had fallen upon it, one she
had better leave John. She put it resolutely back, locked the drawer,
and laid the key on the top of the bureau. Now there was nothing more
to be done. She looked around the room. Yes, that was to be readied up
a little, so that John might not miss her too much for the first day or
two. So she polished the chairs and the bureau, and carefully dusted
the mantlepiece, with the red and white china dog and the kneeling
china angel that stood there. Then she herself was to be dressed; she
had almost forgotten that altogether. She opened her trunk once more,
and took out the dress John loved best to see her in.

Several hours had slipped by while she was thus employed, and now the
village-clock struck five. She hastened down. John still sat on the
doorstep where she had left him.

"John, dear, I did not think it was so late. It is time to go to the
graveyard. Are you ready to come?"

He looked up as if he had been dreaming, but rose and said, "Yes,
Margery."

He shut the house-door, and they turned into a path to the rear of the
cottage. For some distance this road, too, was skirted on both sides
by fields of ripened corn. John passed his hand thoughtlessly over the
heavy ears, and now and then pulled one up, and swung it round in the
air. Neither of them spoke, and for a long while there was no other
sound but the rustle of their steps.

The path at length turned aside and led to a high plateau that
overlooked the valley, in which deep shadows were already beginning to
fall. Blue mists crept over the foot of the mountains, while their tops
were yet lit up by the sun. The smoke from the chimneys rose up into
the air, and the shouts of the village children, playing on the meadow,
faintly came up from below. There under that great oak, the only tree
for some distance around, John had first asked Margery to be his wife.
Involuntarily the steps of both faltered
the drawer yet. Should she carry both these away, excessively? No, she 
 think, as she brushed away the tears that had descend upon it, one she 
 had better leave John. She arrange it decisively back, locked the drawer, 
 and laid the key on the top of the chest of drawers. Now there was nothing more 
 to be do. She looked around the room. Yes, that was to be readied up 
 a little, so that John might not miss her too much for the first day or 
 two. thus she polished the chairs and the bureau, and cautiously dusted 
 the mantlepiece, with the crimson and white china dog and the kneeling 
 china angel that stand there. Then she herself was to be dressed; she 
 had almost forgotten that altogether. She opened her proboscis once more, 
 and took out the dress John loved best to see her in. 

 Several hours had slipped by while she was thus employed, and now the 
 village - clock struck five. She hastened down. John still sat on the 
 doorstep where she had entrust him. 

 " John, dear, I did not think it was so former. It is meter to go to the 
 graveyard. Are you ready to derive? " 

 He looked up as if he had been dreaming, but rose and said, " Yes, 
 Margery. " 

 He exclude the house - door, and they turned into a path to the rear of the 
 cottage. For some distance this road, besides, was skirted on both sides 
 by fields of ripened corn whiskey. John passed his hired hand thoughtlessly over the 
 heavy ears, and now and then pulled one up, and swung it round in the 
 tune. Neither of them spoke, and for a long while there was no early 
 sound but the rustle of their measure. 

 The path at length plow away and led to a high tableland that 
 overlooked the valley, in which deep shadows were already beginning to 
 hang. Blue mist crept over the foot of the mountains, while their top 
 were yet lit up by the sun. The smoke from the chimneys rose up into 
 the air, and the shouts of the village children, playing on the hayfield, 
 faintly came up from below. There under that bang-up oak, the only tree 
 for some distance around, John had first asked Margery to be his wife. 
 Involuntarily the steps of both faltered
 thf drawer yet. Should she garry both these away, tmo? No, ahe
thougft, as she brushed away the txars that had fallen upon it, ond she
had hetter lwave Hohn. She pnf it resolutemn bacn, locked the drswer,
and lahd the key on dhd cop of the bureau. Now there was nothyng morr
tl be done. She jooktd wrouhd the room. Yes, that was to be reasied up
e little, so thay John might not miss her hoo luch for the first day or
two. Wo srw polished tfe chairs and the burezu, and carefully dusted
the mantuepieee, with the rwd wtd white chmna dod and the kncvling
chhna angrl that stood bhere. Thwn she herself was to be dressed; she
had almost fmryotten that altogethee. Whe okened her rruvk knre jore,
anf tkok out ths dress Johb loved best to see hqg in.

Several hkurs hwd slipped by while she was thus employed, ans now the
village-clock srruck five. She hastengd down. Jorn still sat on the
doorstep where she had left hik.

"John, aeax, I dia nlt think it was so late. It is time to go to trs
gtaneyard. Are you recdy to come?"

He lopkfd op as if he haa been drsaming, but rose anf said, "Ies,
Martery."

He shtt tne house-door, and they turnee into a patk ti the rear of the
clttage. For rome distsnce this road, too, was rkirfed on both sides
by rkelds of ripened cogn. Jmhn passta his hand thoughelessly oter tke
heavy dars, and njw and thej pulled one up, and swunh it tound hn the
air. Jeither of them spoke, and for a long while thgre wav no othzr
sounc but the rusele of their sjeps.

The pcth at length tugned asidx and led to a high platedo that
overlooned the dallwy, ib which aeep shadows wrre alreabv beginnibg to
fall. Blue misbs crgpf over the foot of the mountains, ehiue ehvir tj[s
were yet lht uo bh the run. The smojd frpm the chimneys rose up jnto
the air, and thr fhouts od the vijlage childrem, playing on the mtadow,
feintly came up from below. There under that gdeat oak, hhe only tree
fow sone distance cround, John had first asked Margery to bx his wife.
Involuntarili the steps of both fcluered
the drawer yet. Should she carry both too? she thought, she brushed away upon one she had leave John. She it resolutely back, locked the drawer, laid the key on the top of the bureau. Now there was nothing to be done. She looked around the room. Yes, that was to be up little, that might not miss her too much for the first day or two. So she polished the and the bureau, and carefully dusted the mantlepiece, the red and white dog and the kneeling china that there. Then herself to dressed; she had forgotten that altogether. She opened her trunk once more, and took out the dress John loved best see her hours had by she thus employed, and village-clock struck five. She hastened down. on the doorstep where she had left him. dear, I not think it was so late. is time to go to the graveyard. Are ready to come?" He looked up as if he had been dreaming, but rose and Margery." He shut the and they turned a to rear the cottage. some distance this road, too, was skirted on both sides by of ripened corn. John passed his hand thoughtlessly over the and and then pulled up, and swung it in air. Neither of them for long no sound the rustle of their The path at length turned and led to a valley, in which deep shadows were already beginning fall. Blue mists crept over the foot the mountains, while their tops were yet lit up by the sun. smoke from rose up into the air, and the shouts the village children, playing the meadow, faintly came up from below. There under great the only for some distance John had first Margery to be Involuntarily the of faltered
 the drawer yet. Should she carrY both these Away, tOo? NO, shE
tHougHt, as She brushed away THe teArs that had fallen upon it, One shE
hAD betTEr Leave john. She PUt IT ResOlUtEly BaCK, lOcked The Drawer,
aNd laid the kEy oN tHe top of the buREaU. Now there wAs nOthing more
to Be dOne. She LoOkeD ArounD thE room. yes, thaT Was to bE readied uP
a LIttle, sO That JohN MIgHt noT miss her too much foR ThE First day or
two. SO she poLiSHeD THe cHaiRs and the buReAu, and CArefullY DuSTED
thE Mantlepiece, wiTh the red and WHitE china DoG anD The kneEling
ChINa aNgel that stoOd thEre. Then shE herseLF was to bE Dressed; She
had AlmOst ForgOTtEn ThaT aLTogEThEr. SHE opEned her tRuNk Once mOre,
aND TOOk ouT thE dreSs JohN loved best to sEe hEr in.

sEveRal hoUrs haD sliPpEd by wHile shE was tHuS employed, and now The
vIllage-cloCk sTrUck FiVe. She HAsteneD doWn. JOhn stilL sat on tHE
doOrSTEP wHere she had left him.

"JOhN, DEaR, I did not Think iT WaS sO Late. It is TiMe tO go tO THe
graVeyaRD. ARe you reaDy to coME?"

HE lOoked up As If he haD bEen DreAming, BUt roSe and sAid, "Yes,
MaRgery."

hE shut the house-dOOr, and they turnED iNTO a PAth tO thE rear of the
cOttaGE. For Some DIsTanCE this Road, tOo, WAs SKirted on both sides
by FiElds of RipenEd corn. John pasSed his hand THOUghtlessLy ovER tHE
heavy ears, and nOw and Then pulled ONe up, and sWung iT round in The
air. NeiTHEr of them SpoKe, aNd fOr a LONg While there was NO OtheR
sOund but The Rustle oF thEir StePs.

THe Path at lenGth turneD aSiDe AnD leD to a hIGh plateaU tHat
OvErlOoked THe vallEy, in wHich DeEp SHadOws were ALrEADy beGiNnIng tO
faLl. blue mIsts CRepT over thE foot of thE moUNtaiNs, WhIle theiR tops
were yet lIt Up by the sun. thE smOke froM THe chimneYs rose up into
the air, and thE Shouts oF thE villAge cHildren, plAyiNg on thE meADow,
faiNtly caMe up fRoM beLOW. TherE UNdEr tHaT great oak, tHE OnlY tree
FoR somE distanCe around, John had firST asKed Margery to bE hiS wifE.
iNvOluNTaRIly ThE StePS Of both faltered
 the drawer yet. Should sh e carry bo th th ese  aw ay , to o? N o, she
thought ,  asshe brushed away the t earsth a t ha d  f allen  upon i t ,o n e s he 
h adbe t te r lea veJohn. S he put itres ol utely back,l oc ked the dr awe r,
and laidthe  key o nthe top o f t he bu reau.N ow the re was no th i ng mor e 
to bed o ne . Sh e looked around t h er oom. Yes, that  was t ob er e adi edup
a littl e,  so t h at John mi g h t  no t  miss her too  much for t h e f irst d ay  or two. S o she  p o lis hed the cha irsand the b ureau, and car e fully d ustedthe  ma ntle p ie ce , w it h  th e  r eda ndwhite ch in adog a nd t h e k neel ing 
chi na an gel that stoo d t here .  Th en sh e her self  w as to  be dr essed ;she
had almostforg otten tha t a lt oge th er. S h e open edher  trunkonce mo r e,an d t oo k out the dress Jo hn l ov ed bestto see he ri n.

Seve ra l h ours h ad sl ippe d  b y whileshe wa s  t hu s emplo ye d, and  n owthe 
vill a ge-c lock s truck fi ve. S h e hastened dow n . John stills at o nt he
d oor step wheresheh ad l efth im .
" John,  dear ,I  d i d not think it wasso  late.  It i s time to goto the
gra v e y ard. Are  you re a dy to come?"
He lo oked up as if he ha d bee n dreami ng, but r o s e and sa id,  "Y es, 
Ma r g er y."

He shutt h e ho us e-door,  an d theytur ned  in toapath to t he rearof  t he 
c ott age.F or somedi sta nc e t his r o ad, to o, wa s sk ir te d  on  both s i de s by f ie ld s of  ri pe ned c orn. Joh n passe d his han d t h ough tl es sly ove r the
heavy e ar s, and now  a ndthen p u l led oneup, and swung it roundi n the
a ir.  Neit herof them s pok e, and  fo r  a lon g whil e the re  wa s no ot h e rsou nd  but the r u s tle  of t he ir s teps.
The path at length tur ned aside and  le d to a  h igh pl a tea ut hat o verlooked the v alley, inwh i ch  deep shad o wswe re alre ady beg innin g  to
fal l. Blue m ists crep tover t hefoot of th e mounta ins, whil e  thei r  t ops
w ere  yet l it  up  by t he sun .  Th e smo ke fro mthe ch imney srose upinto
the air, and the s houtsof th e v illage ch ild r en,  playingon t he meadow, 
fa int ly ca meu p fro m be l ow . T h ere u nder that grea t  o ak, t he  only treef o r  so me di sta n ce aro und,  John had first a s ked Margery to  beh i s w ife . 
Inv ol untarily the s tep so f  both fa lt ered
 the_drawer yet._Should she carry both_these away,_too?_No, she
thought,_as_she brushed away_the tears that_had fallen upon it,_one she
had better_leave_John. She put it resolutely back, locked the drawer,
and laid the key on the_top_of the_bureau._Now_there was nothing more
to be_done. She looked around the_room. Yes,_that was to be readied up
a little, so_that_John might not_miss her too much for the first day or
two._So she polished the chairs and_the bureau, and_carefully_dusted
the_mantlepiece, with the red_and white china dog and the_kneeling
china angel that stood there. Then_she herself was to be dressed; she
had_almost forgotten that altogether. She opened_her trunk once more,
and took_out the_dress John loved best to_see her in.

Several_hours had_slipped by while_she was thus employed, and now_the
village-clock struck five._She hastened down. John still sat_on_the
doorstep where she_had_left_him.

"John, dear,_I did not_think_it was_so_late. It is time to go_to_the
graveyard. Are you ready to come?"

He looked_up as if he_had_been dreaming, but rose_and said, "Yes,
Margery."

He shut the_house-door, and they turned into a_path to_the rear_of the
cottage. For some distance this road, too, was skirted on_both sides
by fields of ripened corn._John passed his hand_thoughtlessly over_the
heavy_ears, and now_and_then pulled_one up, and swung it round in_the
air. Neither_of them spoke, and for a_long while there was_no_other
sound but the rustle of their_steps.

The path at length turned aside_and led to a high_plateau_that
overlooked_the valley, in which deep_shadows were already beginning to
fall. Blue_mists crept over_the foot of the mountains, while their_tops
were_yet lit up by the sun._The_smoke from the chimneys rose up_into
the_air,_and the shouts of the_village children, playing on the meadow,
faintly_came up from below. There under that great oak,_the only tree
for_some distance around, John had_first_asked_Margery to be his wife.
Involuntarily the steps of both faltered