It occurred to me that, in that case, there was not much use of Miss Clara's rushing in with remonstrances, where much more angelically-minded persons than she might well have feared to tread; the Gwynnes were not a family to brook outside interference. But, being brought up in the seen-and-not-heard tradition, I passively followed in the old lady's wake. Miss Vardaman's bark was, I knew, a great deal worse than her bite; and I could hardly fancy her facing down that ready, cock-sure, and energetic little Mrs. Horace Gwynne. In fact, as we neared the house, it was obvious that Miss Clara's courage was going the road of Bob Acres'. She walked slower, commented casually on the beauty of the spring foliage, and paused in an uneasy hesitation when we caught sight of another lady--_not_ Mrs. Horace Gwynne--descending the steps with a bundle in her arms. "It's Lulu Stevens," she said in an undertone. "I didn't know _she_ was out here. _Cormorants!_ Harriet couldn't bear her." "Do you suppose I'll ever get home with this thing?" Mrs. Stevens greeted us cheerily. The last time I had seen her had been at the funeral, where she listened as attentively as any of us to the great and awful words in which we are warned that man walketh in a vain shadow and disquieteth himself in vain; he heapeth up riches and cannot tell who shall gather them. "I came out on the cars--next time I'll take the carriage. It's the old French china punch-bowl--you know--the one that used to stand on top of the wine-cabinet in the dining-room. Cousin Jennie said she thought I might as well take it, she didn't believe anybody else wanted it. Cousin Jennie's the oldest, you know, and she has so much _judgment_. Those are those two old cut-glass decanters I just wrapped up and put inside. Goodness, it's as heavy as lead! You ought to see the house, Clara, you just ought to _see_ it! It's cram-full of everything under the sun, I wouldn't have believed there was all the truck in it." "It won't be there long, I think," said Miss Vardaman, with unnatural dryness, glaring at the punch-bowl.