“Wall, she never said a word, jes’ kept working herself further and further out. I was terrible scairt the jedge would turn round any second and ketch her. Stood thar on pins and needles watchin’ Gram rise from her grave. ‘Have a heart, Gram,’ I begun coaxin’ ag’in. ‘How’d ye like a city feller like that jedge to ketch a Perkins turnin’ ghost like?’ ... Never finished what I set out to say. She looked so queer and upset--so like she wanted to tell me something and didn’t know how. I stood thar, geraniums in one hand, stick in t’other, tryin’ to make out what it was Gram wanted to tell me. Then it come over me, all of a flash. ’Twasn’t she that wanted to git out; ’twas that smart, spunky body o’ hern. It was drivin’ the sperrit same as a strong wind drives a cloud afore it. She was ready to rest if that doggoned crippled-up, pie-bakin’, doughnut-fryin’ body would have let her be. But it wouldn’t. It was draggin’ her out of her coffin, out of her grave, turnin’ her loose about the county like no decent sperrit could stand. “‘I’ll fix it,’ says I, droppin’ the geraniums and grabbin’ the stick with both hands, ‘I’ll fix it so it’ll let ye rest quiet twell Doomsday,’ and with that I laid on Gram with that stick. I beat her up twell thar warn’t nothin’ left but a scatterin’ of dust on the spring sod. Yes, m’am! I reduced Gram to dust and ashes like the Bible said had to be.” A long sigh swept the stillness of the room. The face of Zeb Perkins underwent a sequence of changes. Triumph had been there, but it dwindled out and sorrow took its place; and then a fear, a tremulous commiseration and, finally, bewilderment. He now looked straight at me. His eyes were dull, fearful. “They doan’t understand, them Perkins to the harbour. They doan’t think I ever ought to have done that to Gram.” I gathered up my flies and was halfway to the door before Zeb spoke again. His voice had now grown querulous: “Wall--what do ye think?” I gave my answer as I slipped out of doors, into the wide spaces again. “I think the trout are going to bite,” said I. THE LITTLE GIRL FROM TOWN BY RUTH SUCKOW From _Harper’s_ “I wonder who that is coming here,” Mrs. Sieverson said, looking out of the kitchen window. “Somebody coming?” Mr. Sieverson asked from the sink. “Oh, I guess that’s Dave Lindsay, ain’t it? He said he’d be out.” “Yes, but he’s got someone with him. Oh! I believe it’s that little girl from back East somewhere that’s visiting them. Leone! Children!” Mr. Sieverson went outdoors, and then Mrs. Sieverson, and, by the time the car stopped, rounding the drive, all four children were on hand from somewhere. Even Marvin and Clyde, the two boys. “Anybody home?” Mr. Lindsay called out jovially. “You bet!”