By means of these clever manoeuvres
Patty made herself the focus of attention when the Wilson party
came out on the steps, and vouchsafed Mark only a nonchalant nod,
airily flinging a little greeting with the nod,--just a "How d'ye
do, Mark? Did you have a good time in Boston?"
Patty and Waitsill, with some of the girls who had come long
distances, ate their luncheon in a shady place under the trees
behind the meeting-house, for there was an afternoon service to
come, a service with another long sermon. They separated after
the modest meal to walk about the Common or stray along the road
to the Academy, where there was a fine view.
Two or three times during the summer the sisters always went
quietly and alone to the Baxter burying-lot, where three
grassgrown graves lay beside one another, unmarked save by narrow
wooden slabs so short that the initials painted on them were
almost hidden by the tufts of clover. The girls had brought roots
of pansies and sweet alyssum, and with a knife made holes in the
earth and planted them here and there to make the spot a trifle
less forbidding. They did not speak to each other during this
sacred little ceremony; their hearts were too full when they
remembered afresh the absence of headstones, the lack of care, in
the place where the three women lay who had ministered to their
father, borne him children, and patiently endured his arbitrary
and loveless rule.
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