Her mother she remembered dimly and with that recollection were memories of days when she was loved and made much of, not only by Mother, but by Captain Hall also. She asked Mrs. Bailey, whom she had loved and whose leaving was the greatest grief of her life, some questions about these memories. Mrs. Bailey had hugged her and had talked a good deal about Captain Hall's being a changed man since his wife's death. “He used to be so different, jolly and good-natured and sociable; you wouldn't know him now if you seen him then. When your mamma was took it just seemed to wilt him right down. He was awful sick himself for a spell, and when he got better he was like he is today. Seems as if HE died too, as you might say, and ain't really lived since. I'm awful sorry for Cap'n Marcellus. You must be real good to him when you grow up, Mary-'Gusta.” And now he had gone before she had had a chance to grow up, and Mary-'Gusta felt an unreasonable sense of blame. But real grief, the dreadful paralyzing realization of loss which an adult feels when a dear one dies, she did not feel. She was awed and a little frightened, but she did not feel like crying. Why should she? “Mary-'Gusta! Mary-'Gusta! Where be you?” It was Mrs. Hobbs calling. Mary-'Gusta hurriedly untwisted her legs and scrambled from beneath the dust cover of the surrey. David, whose slumbers were disturbed, rose also, yawned and stretched. “Here I be, Mrs. Hobbs,” answered the girl. “I'm a-comin'.” Mrs. Hobbs was standing in the doorway of the barn. Mary-'Gusta noticed that she was not, as usual, garbed in gingham, but was arrayed in her best go-to-meeting gown. “I'm a-comin',” said the child. “Comin', yes. But where on earth have you been? I've been hunting all over creation for you. I didn't suppose you'd be out here, on this day of all others, with--with that critter,” indicating David, who appeared, blinking sleepily. “I must say I shouldn't think you'd be fussin' along with a cat today,” declared Mrs. Hobbs. “Yes'm,” said Mary-'Gusta. David yawned, apparently expressing a bored contempt for housekeepers in general. “Come right along into the house,” continued Mrs. Hobbs. “It's high time you was gettin' ready for the funeral.” “Ready? How?” queried Mary-'Gusta. “Why, changin' your clothes, of course.” “Do folks dress up for funerals?” “Course they do. What a question!” “I didn't know. I--I've never had one.” “Had one?” “I mean I've never been to any. What do they dress up for?” “Why--why, because they do, of course. Now don't ask any more questions, but hurry up. Where are you goin' now, for mercy sakes?” “I was goin' back after Rose and Rosette. They ought to be dressed up, too, hadn't they?” “The idea! Playin' dolls today! I declare I never see such a child! You're a reg'lar little--little heathen. Would you want anybody playin' dolls at your own funeral, I'd like to know?”