"I wish mother would consent to ride one of the burros to meeting, then she could come as often as she wished. But she doesn't think it decorous. Well, I'm glad she's having the comfort to-day; but what is Friend Adam saying? It sounds like a farewell." He shot a startled glance across to Amy, among the women, and she responded. Then both regarded Adam anxiously. He stood in the speaker's place, where he was always found in meeting time. His body swayed gently back and forth, though his hands rested upon his cane as if he needed its support. His voice fell into the rhythmic measure to which they were accustomed whenever he became the mouthpiece of the Spirit, but his words were as of one who departs for a distant country and wishes many things to be remembered. His message was brief, yet delivered with all the fire and eloquence of youth; but when he had finished and cast his eyes about him, something like a sob burst from his withered lips:-- "It's so queer. He looks so happy and yet so sad. Well, he's giving the hand of greeting to his neighbor, and so meeting's over." There was no trace of sadness now. In the friendly hand-shaking that became general was, as Amy had seen, the signal for the closing of the meeting, whereupon old neighbors and friends fell promptly to giving and receiving news of mutual welfare or trouble, as the case might be; and after a while there was a driving away of vehicles, the nods and signals of gray bonnets and broad brims, until the while party from the Clove were the very last left lingering on the grass before the steps. "Well, it's been a good day, Salome. And now the Word comes: 'For here we have no continuing city, but seek one to come.'" The old man's eyes fixed themselves earnestly upon the weather-beaten structure; then with a bright smile he turned away and climbed into the phaeton which Amy had brought. Old Fanny mare trotted homeward at an almost giddy pace, and the burros did their utmost to keep up with her, though their chronic laziness overcame them at times, and they fell behind. After which Hallam and Amy would prod their indolent beasts till they had "made a spurt and caught up." "No use, children," laughed Adam Burn. "Fanny is a well-trained 'Quaker.' She knows meeting days as well as I do, and she never fails to go there as slowly as she returns swiftly. She thinks, if horses think, and I think they think--doesn't thee think so, Amy? She thinks she has done her duty, and her conscience is as clear as her stomach is empty. On meeting days she has always an extra feed. That's why she spins along like this." He was very jolly, and as full of fun as Amy herself. They found Mr. Kaye pacing the driveway, waiting for them, and as eager for his dinner as Fanny for hers. They were soon gathered about the table, and again old Adam's jest was the readiest, his cheerfulness the most contagious, and his suggestions the most practical.