"Roses? So Fritz has been here! I have brought you lilies, Avis. Oh, Avis, I miss you so! You were so jolly and good--you understood a fellow so well. I had to come here tonight to tell you how much I miss you. It doesn't seem half home without you. Avis, I'm trying to be a better chap--more the sort of man you'd have me be. I've given the old set the go-by--I'm trying to live up to your standard. It would be easier if you were here to help me. When I was a kid it was always easier to be good for awhile after I'd talked things over with you. I've got the best mother a fellow ever had, but you and I were such chums, weren't we, Avis? I thought I'd just break down in there tonight and put a damper on everything by crying like a baby. If anybody had spoken about you, I should have. Hello!" Laddie wheeled around with a start, but it was only Robert's two boys, who came shyly up to the grave, half hanging back to find anyone else there. "Hello, boys," said Laddie huskily. "So you've come to see her grave too?" "Yes," said Cecil solemnly. "We--we just had to. We couldn't go to bed without coming. Oh, isn't it lonesome without Cousin Avis?" "She was always so good to us," said Sid. "She used to talk to us so nice," said Cecil chokily. "But she liked fun, too." "Boys," said Laddie gravely, "never forget what Cousin Avis used to say to you. Never forget that you have _got_ to grow up into men she'd be proud of." They went away then, the boys and their boyish uncle; and when they had gone Nora came, stealing timidly through the shadows, starting at the rustle of the wind in the trees. "Oh, Avis," she whispered. "I want to see you so much! I want to tell you all about it--about _him_. You would understand so well. He is the best and dearest lover ever a girl had. You would think so too. Oh, Avis, I miss you so much! There's a little shadow even on my happiness because I can't talk it over with you in the old way. Oh, Avis, it was dreadful to sit around the fire tonight and not see you. Perhaps you were there in spirit. I love to think you were, but I wanted to see you. You were always there to come home to before, Avis, dear." Sobbing, she went away; and then came Margaret, the grave, strong Margaret. "Dear cousin, dear to me as a sister, it seemed to me that I must come to you here tonight. I cannot tell you how much I miss your wise, clear-sighted advice and judgment, your wholesome companionship. A little son was born to me this past year, Avis. How glad you would have been, for you knew, as none other did, the bitterness of my childless heart. How we would have delighted to talk over my baby together, and teach him wisely between us! Avis, Avis, your going made a blank that can never be filled for me!" Margaret was still standing there when the old people came. "Father! Mother! Isn't it too late and chilly for you to be here?"