It was very still; below them the valley had suddenly brimmed with sunshine that flickered and twinkled on the birch leaves or shimmered on sombre stretches of pine and spruce. Close at hand, pennyroyal grew thick in the shadow of the wall; and just beyond, mullen candles cast slender bars of shade across the grass. The sunken graves and the lines of iron markers lay before them. “How quiet it is!” she said, in a whisper. “I guess I’ll smoke,” Lewis said, and scratched a match on his trousers. “How can you!” she protested; “it is profane!” He gave her an amused look, but lighted his cigar and smoked dreamily for a minute; then he drew a long breath. “I was pretty tired,” he said, and turned to glance back at the road. A horse and cart were coming in at the open gate; the elderly driver, singing to himself, drew up abruptly at the sight of the two under the pine-tree, then drove toward them, the wheels of the cart jolting cheerfully over the cradling graves. He had a sickle in his hand, and as he clambered down from the seat, he said, with friendly curiosity: “You folks are out early, for the world’s people.” “Is this a graveyard?” Athalia demanded, impetuously. “Yee,” he said, smiling; “it’s our burial-place; we’re Shakers.” “But why are there just the stakes--without names?” “Why should there be names?” he said, whimsically; “they have new names now.” “Where is your community? Can we go and visit it?” “Yee; but we’re not much to see,” he said; “just men and women, like you. Only we’re happy. I guess that’s all the difference.” “But what a difference!” she exclaimed; and Lewis smiled. “I’ve come up for pennyroyal,” the Shaker explained, sociably; “it grows thick round here.” “Tell me about the Shakers,” Athalia pleaded. “What do you believe?” “Well,” he said, a simple shrewdness glimmering in his brown eyes, “if you go to the Trustees’ House, down there in the valley, Eldress Hannah’ll tell you all about us. And the sisters have baskets and pretty truck to sell--things the world’s people like. Go and ask the Eldress what we believe, and she’ll show you the baskets.” She turned eagerly to her husband. “Never mind the ten-o’clock train, Lewis. Let us go!” “We could take a later train, all right,” he admitted, “but--” “Oh, PLEASE!” she entreated, joyously. “We’ll help you pick pennyroyal,” she added to the Shaker. But this he would not allow. “I doubt you’d be careful enough,” he said, mildly; “Sister Lydia was the only female I ever knew who could pick herbs.” “Do you get paid for the work you do?” Athalia asked, practically. Lewis flushed at the boldness of such a question, but the old man chuckled. “Should I pay myself?” he asked. “You own everything in common, don’t you?” Lewis said. “Yee,” said the Shaker; “we’re all brothers and sisters. Nobody tries to get ahead of anybody else.” “And you don’t believe in marriage?” Athalia asserted. “We are as the angels of God,” he said, simply.