“He would not dare treat her Aunt Rossiter and cousins like that; neither would Phil have left them to go up alone,” she thought, as she took her seat poutingly, wondering where Phil was, and if he would keep aloof from them at the station, just to show Reinette that he recognized the difference between himself and his relatives. And while she thought thus jealously of Phil, he, with the perspiration standing in great drops upon his face, and with his cuffs pulled up from his white wrists, was working like a beaver in the “Hetherton lot,” which Mr. Beresford, on his return from selecting the site for the grave, had reported “a perfect swamp of briers and weeds.” It would never answer, Phil said, to let Reinette tear her dress on briers, and get her feet entangled in weeds. Something must be done, although there was but little time in which to do it, and he began to hunt about for some man to help him: but no one was to be found, while even the sexton was busy with the grave of a town pauper who was to be buried that afternoon. Phil was very tired, for he had been busy since the arrival of Reinette’s telegram at his grandmother’s, his Aunt Lydia’s, his own home, and at Hetherton Place, where he filled the rooms with flowers brought from the Knoll gardens and conservatory and with the beautiful pond lilies which he went himself upon the river to procure. The most of these he arranged in Reinette’s chamber, for there was a great pity in Phil’s heart for the young girl whose home-coming would be so sad. Of himself, or how he would impress Reinette, he never but once thought, and that when, chancing to pass the mirror, he caught sight of his hat, which was rather the worse for wear. “I certainly must honor my cousin with a new hat, for this is unpardonably shabby,” he thought, and remembering his bet with Arthur Beresford, and how sure he was to win, he went into a hatter’s on his return to town, and selecting a soft felt, which was very becoming, and added to his jaunty appearance, he had it charged to his friend, and then went in quest of some laborer to take with him to the grave-yard. But there was none to be found, and so he set off alone with hoe and rake, and sickle, and waged so vigorous a warfare upon the weeds, and grass, and briers, that the lot, though far from being presentable, was soon greatly changed in its appearance. But Phil had miscalculated the time, and while pruning the willows which drooped over Mrs. Hetherton’s grave, he suddenly heard in the distance the whistle of the train not over a mile away.