“My face?  Why, nothing.”

“Nonsense!  It’s a sight to see.  You look the way Erastus Beebe’s boy did when the cannon-cracker went off too soon.  Primmie, hand me that little lookin’-glass.”

Primmie snatched the small mirror from the wall.

“See, Mr. Bangs,” she cried, holding the mirror an inch from his nose.  “Look at yourself.  You’re all broke out with a crash—­rash, I mean.  Ain’t he, Miss Martha?”

Galusha regarded his reflection in the mirror with astonishment.

“Why, I—­I seem to be—­ah—­polka-dotted,” he said.  “I never saw anything so—­ Dear me, dear me!”

He drew his fingers down his cheek.  The speckles promptly became streaks.  He smiled in relief.

“I see, I see,” he said.  “It is the lichen.”

This explanation was not as satisfying as he evidently meant it to be.  Martha looked more puzzled than ever.  Primmie looked frightened.

“What did he say ’twas?” she whispered. “‘Tain’t catchin’, is it, Miss Martha?”

“It is the lichen from the tombstones,” went on Galusha.  “Most of them were covered with it.  In order to read the inscriptions I was obliged to scrape it off with my pocketknife, and the particles must have blown in my face and—­ah—­adhered.  Perhaps—­ah—­some soap and water might improve my personal appearance, Miss Phipps.  If you will excuse me I think I will try the experiment.”

He rose briskly from the sofa.  Primmie stared at him open-mouthed.

“Ain’t there nothin’ the matter with you, Mr. Bangs?” she asked.  “Is the way your face is tittered up just dirt?”

“Just dirt, that’s all.  It came from the old tombstones in the cemetery.”

Primmie’s mouth was open to ask another question, but Miss Phipps closed it.

“Stop, Primmie,” she said.  Then, turning to Galusha who was on his way to the stairs, she asked: 

“Excuse me, Mr. Bangs, but have you been spendin’ this lovely forenoon in the graveyard?”

“Eh?  Oh, yes, yes.  In the old cemetery over—­ah—­yonder.”

“Humph! . . .  Well, I hope you had a nice time.”

“Oh, I did, I did, thank you.  I enjoyed myself very much indeed.”

“Yes, I should think you must have. . . .  Well, come down right away because dinner’s ready when you are.”

Galusha hastened up the stairs.  His hostess gazed after him and slowly shook her head.

“Miss Martha, Miss Martha.”

Martha turned, to find Primmie excitedly gesticulating.  “Didn’t I tell you?  Didn’t I tell you?” whispered Primmie.

“Didn’t you tell me what?  Stop wigglin’.”

“Yes’m.  Didn’t I tell you ’undertaker’?”

“What?”

“Undertaker.  Him, the Bangs one.  Yesterday ’twas remains, to-day it’s graveyards.  My savin’ soul, I—­”

“Hush, hush!  Have you thought to get that dictionary from Lulie yet?”