Francis kept glancing down at her, trying to think of something to say.  She never looked at him, and kept her shabby little shoes pointed straight ahead on the extreme inside of the walk, as intently as if she were walking on a line.  Nobody would have dreamed how her heart, in spite of the terrible exigency in which she was placed, was panting insensibly with the sweet rhythm of youth.  In the midst of all this trouble and bewilderment, she had not been able to help a strange feeling when she first looked into this young man’s face.  It was as if she were suddenly thrust off her old familiar places, like a young bird from its nest into space, and had to use a strange new motion of her soul to keep herself from falling.

But Francis guessed nothing of this.  “It’s a pleasant day,” he remarked as they walked along.

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

The graveyard gates had been left open after the funeral.  They entered, and passed up the driveway along the wheel ruts of the funeral procession.  Pink garlands of flowering-almond arched over the old graves, and bushes of bridal-wreath sent out white spikes.  Weeping-willows swept over them in lines of gold-green light, and evergreen trees stood among them as they had stood all winter.  In many of these were sunken vases and bottles of spring flowers, lilacs and violets.

Lois and Francis Arms went on to the Mason monument.

“This is the one Aunt Jane was speaking about,” he said, in a deferential tone.

Lois looked up at the four white marble women grouped around the central shaft, their Greek faces outlined against the New England sky.

“It was made by a famous sculptor,” said Francis; “and it cost a great deal of money.”

Lois nodded.

“They box it up in the winter, so it won’t be injured by the weather,” said Francis.

Lois nodded again.  Presently they turned away, and went on to a new grave, covered with wreaths and floral devices.  The fragrance of tuberoses and carnations came in their faces.

“This is the grave Aunt Jane wanted you to see,” said Francis.

“Yes, sir,” returned Lois.

They stood staring silently at the long mound covered with flowers.  Francis turned.

“Suppose we go over this way,” said he.

Lois followed him as he strode along the little grassy paths between the burial lots.  On the farther side of the cemetery the ground sloped abruptly to a field of new grass.  Francis stooped and felt of the short grass on the bank.

“It’s dry,” said he.  “I don’t think your aunt would mind.  Suppose we sit down here and rest a few minutes?”

Lois looked at him hesitatingly.

“Oh, sit down just a few minutes,” he said, with a pleasant laugh.

They both seated themselves on the bank, and looked down into the field.

“It’s pleasant here, isn’t it?” said Francis.

“Real pleasant.”