"I didn't say nothin' to nobody," Charlotte continued, "but the more I thought on't the more stirred up I got. The baby gone, an' she there all alone! So I run over. I knocked an' knocked, an' not a sound. Then, as I was turnin' away, I got a glimpse inside the kitchen winder, an' if you'll believe me there she set, hat an' all on, an' her hands full o' daffies. You know them big double daffies always come up in their grass. Well!" Nan threw down her trowel. "I'll go over," she said. "We'll both go." "What I come for," Charlotte hesitated, as they crossed the grass, "was whether I better say anything to anybody." Nan knew she meant Raven. "No," she said, "Oh, I don't know! We can't tell till we see." Nan remembered she had not washed the earth off her hands, and yet, though they were passing her door, she could not stop. When they came in sight of the house, there was Tira in the doorway. She had taken off her hat now, and there was no daffies in her hands. She looked so commonplace, if her height and nobility could ever be less august, that Nan felt a sudden drop in her own anxiety. Tira called to them. "Couldn't you come in a minute? I'd be pleased to have you." They went up the path, and when they stood at the foot of the steps, confronting her, Nan saw how she had changed. And yet not tragically: she was merely, one would have said, entirely calm, the stillest thing in that pageant of the moving day. "I'd be pleased," she said, "if you'd walk in." She looked at Nan, and Charlotte at once turned away, saying, as she went: "If there's anything--well, I'll be over." Nan and Tira went in, Nan holding Tira's hand in her earthy one. "Let's sit here," said Nan, crossing the room to the sofa between the side windows. She was not sure of anything about this talk except that she must keep her hand on Tira. She noticed that the double daffies, a great bunch of them, were lying on the table. Tira was smiling faintly. She drew a deep breath. It sounded as if she had been holding herself up to something and had suddenly let go. "Seems good to set," she said. "I ain't hardly set down to-day except----" She had it in mind to say except when she was in the car, carrying the baby over to Mountain Brook, but it seemed too hard a thing to say. "If you'd just lie down," said Nan, "I'd sit here." "No," said Tira, "I can't do that. I'm goin' over to Mountain Brook." "Not again? Not to-day?" "Yes, right off. I'm goin' to carry them daffies. He didn't have no flowers, the baby didn't. I never thought on't--then. But he never had none. He played with a daffy, 'most the last thing. I've got to git 'em over there." "Not to-day, Tira," urged Nan. "You wouldn't get back till after dark." "I shouldn't come back to-night," said Tira. "The Donnyhills were real good to me. They come to the grave. They'd admire to have me pass the night."