Won't you come to dinner with us ?" 3 Grandma ran to some people who were waiting, I suppose, to take them to the regular minister's Sunday dinner, and seemed to be making some sort of plea to be excused.

What it could have been I have no idea; but I suspect it must have been because of the necessity of saving souls; some plea of duty; anyhow she soon returned, and with her and the elder we walked in silence down to the grove where our wagon stood among the trees, with my cows farther up-stream picketed in the grass.
"Just make yourselves comfortable," said I; "while I get dinner." "And," said the elder, "I'll help, if I may." "You're company," I said.
"Please let me," he begged; "and while we work we'll talk." In the meantime Grandma Thorndyke was turning Virginia inside out like a stocking, and looking for the seamy side.

She carefully avoided asking her about our whereabouts for the last few days, but she scrutinized Virginia's soul and must have found it as white as snow.

She found out how old she was, how friendless she was, how--but I rather think not why--Virginia had run away from Buck Gowdy; and all that could be learned about me which could be learned without entering into details of our hiding from the world together all those days alone on the trackless prairie.

That subject she avoided, though of course she must have had her own ideas about it.