Dolly had objected to Billy as one of the pall-bearers.  He was too short and inferior looking, she said, and not at all in harmony with Dick, and Fred, and Paul Crosby, the young man who, in Harold’s absence, had been asked to take his place.  But Arthur overruled her with the words ’It was Maude’s wish,’ and Billy kept his post.

The day arrived, and the hour, and the people came in greater crowds than they had done when poor Jack was buried, or the dark woman, Nannine, with only Jerrie as chief mourner, 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 Harold’s eyes, ’I’m a blunderin’ cuss, I be.  I didn’t mean nothin’, I’ve ever meant nothin’, and if I hev’ I’m sorry for it.’