After dinner, up in his room, the walls seemed to have contracted. The kitchen's smoky air rose even here, and he flung his window wide to the April sweetness. The atmosphere was too windless to come in and wrestle with the smell of frying, but he saw the day was golden as a draught waiting to be quaffed. The restricted schedule of Sunday cast a quiet over the yards, and from the distance Fairfax heard sounds that were not distinguishable in the weekday confusion, the striking of the hour from the Catholic Church bell, the voices of the children playing in the streets. There was a letter lying on his bureau from his mother: he had not had the heart to read it to-day. The gymnasium was shut for repairs, there was no ball game on for Easter Day, and, after a second's hesitation, he caught up his hat from where he had dropped it at his feet and rushed downstairs into the kitchen. Molly, her sleeves rolled up, was washing dishes for Mrs. Kenny. "Don't you want to come out with me for a walk?" Fairfax asked her. "Go along," said Mrs. Kenny, giving her a shove with her bare elbow. "I'll make out alone fine. The suds is elegant. If you meet Kenny and the children, tell them there's not a bit left but the lashins of the stew, and to hurry up." CHAPTER XIII There was a divine fragrance in the air. Fairfax stopped to gather a few anemones and handed them to his silent companion. "Since you have grown so pale in the collar factory, Miss Molly, you look like these flowers." He stretched out his, arms, bared his head, flung it up and looked toward the woodland up the slope and saw the snow-white stones on the hill, above the box borders and the cedar borders of the burial place: above, the sky was blue as a bird's wing. "Let me help you." He put his hand under her arm and walked with her up the hill. They breathed together; the sweet air with its blossomy scent touched their lips, and the ancient message of spring spoke to them. He was on Molly's left side; beneath his arm he could feel her fluttering heart and his own went fast. At the hill top they paused at the entrance to a pretentious lot, with high white shafts and imposing columns, broken by the crude whiteness of a single marble cross. Brightly it stood out against the air and the dark green of cedar and box. "This is the most perfect monument," he said aloud, "the most harmonious; indeed, it is the only relief to the eye." On every grave were Easter garlands, crosses and wreaths; the air was heavy with lilac and with lily. Except for a few monosyllables Molly said nothing, but now, as they paused side by side, she murmured-- "It's beautiful quiet after the racket of the shops; it's like heaven!" Fairfax's glance wandered over the acres of monuments, marking the marble city, and came back to the living girl at his side. "It's a strange place for two young people to stroll about in, Miss Molly."