“It was such a shock to her—­poor Henry,” sobbed little Cousin Jasmine, and the other two little sisters sniffed in chorus.

“To have railroad trains running by Greenwood at all will be disturbing to the peace of the dead,” snorted Mrs. Hargrove.  “We need no railroad in Glendale.  We have never had one, and that is my last word—­no!”

“Four miles to the railroad station across the river is just a pleasant drive in good weather,” said Cousin Martha, plaintively, as she cuddled Sallie’s sobs more comfortably down on her shoulder.

“I feel that Henry would doubt my faithfulness to his memory, if I consented to such a desecration,” came in smothered tones from the pillowing shoulder.

And not one of all those six women had stopped to think for one minute that the minor fact of the disturbing of the ashes of Henry Carruthers would be followed by the major one of the restoration of the widow’s fortune and the lifting of a huge financial burden off the strong shoulders they were all separately and collectively leaning upon.

I exploded, but I am glad I drew the Crag out on the porch and did it to him alone.

“Evelina, you are refreshing if strenuous,” he laughed, after I had spent five minutes in stating my opinions of women in general and a few in particular.  “But I ought not to have hurt Sallie by telling her about the lines until they are a certainty.  It is so far only a possibility.  They may go across the river anyway.”

“And as for seeing Sallie swaddled in your consideration, and fed yourself as a sacrifice from a spoon, I am tired of it,” I flamed up again.  “It’s not good for her.  Feed and clothe her and her progeny,—­men in general have brought just such burdens as that upon you in particular by their attitude towards us,—­but do let her begin to exert just a small area of her brain on the subject of the survival of the fit to live.  You don’t swaddle or feed me!”

“Eve,” he said, softly under his breath as his wonderful gentle eyes sank down way below the indignation and explosiveness to the quiet pool that lies at the very bottom of my heart.

Nobody ever found it before and I didn’t know it was there myself, but I felt as if it were being drained up into Heaven.

“Eve!” He said again, and it is a wonder that I didn’t answer: 

“Adam!”

I don’t know just what would have happened if Uncle Peter hadn’t broken in on the interview with his crustiest chips on both shoulders and so much excitement bottled up that he had to let it fly like a double reporter.

“Dodson is down at the Hotel looking for you, James,” he began as he hurried up the steps.  “Big scheme this—­got him in a corner if the C. & G. comes along this side of Old Harpeth—­make him squeal—­hey?”

“Who’s Dodson?” I asked with the greatest excitement.  I was for the first time getting a whiff of the schemes of the masculine mighty, but I was squelched promptly by Uncle Peter.