"I hope John Powell didn't lock Mary up," said Stephen. "She must have got out if he did," said Audrey, "for she lived a long, long, long time after him. He died in 1781, and she didn't die not until 1827; let me count up, it's quite a long sum. Why, it's forty-six years, Stephen!" "Oh dear," said Stephen, "that is a long time! Let's tell Granny Robin about it, and I'll ask her if she would have that one if she was me." Granny Robin quite approved of their plan, and of Stephen's choice of the two grandchildren who died young. She told them that relict meant the wife left behind, and tears came into the old woman's sightless eyes, as she sat at her knitting and thought of the poor widow left behind for forty-six years. She pictured her living on and on, year after year, coming doubtless often to that grave to look at the place where her John lay, but still kept waiting for forty-six years for the glad day when she should see him again. Granny Robin thought it must have seemed a longs dreary time to poor Mary. And then, maybe, those two grandchildren were a cheer and comfort to her. Yet they were taken, they died young, but old Mary still lived on. Till at last, on that winter's day, January 20, 1827, the call, so long waited for, came, and she and her John were together again. Then, too, the old grandmother saw once more the faces of the two grandchildren who died young. So Granny Robin mused as she sat at her work; and she wondered whether the waiting-time seemed as long to old Mary, as she looked back to it from the brightness and the joy of the Home above, or did it seem short as a troubled dream seems when we wake from sleep? "Our light affliction, which is but for a moment." So long, when we are passing through it; but for a moment, as we look back to it from God's eternity. CHAPTER V The Collection STEPHEN had now quite settled upon the grave which he was to make his especial care, but he promised not to begin his work until Audrey had chosen hers. She was very undecided for a long time, but at length she chose one, sacred to the memory of another John. "It will be nice for us each to have a John," she said. "'BENEATH IS DEPOSITED ALL THAT WAS MORTAL OF JOHN HUTTON, WHO DIED THE 12TH OF APRIL, 1793, AGED 47.'" "'Go home, dear wife, and shed no tear, I must ly here till Christ appear; And at His coming hope to have A joyful rising from the grave.'" "How do you spell lie, Granny Robin?" said Audrey, when she had finished reading it to her. "L-i-e," said the old woman. "Well, it's l-y here," said the child. "That's the old-fashioned way," said Granny Robin. "Well, now, we'll set to work," said Audrey; "we must wash them first, Stephen. Do you think your father would give us some water in a basin? I daren't ask Aunt Cordelia; she would say I should dirty my pinafore."