In the parlor lay Matthew Cuthbert in his coffin, his long gray hair framing his placid face on which there was a little kindly smile as if he but slept, dreaming pleasant dreams.

There were flowers about him--sweet old-fashioned flowers which his mother had planted in the homestead garden in her bridal days and for which Matthew had always had a secret, wordless love.

Anne had gathered them and brought them to him, her anguished, tearless eyes burning in her white face.

It was the last thing she could do for him.
The Barrys and Mrs.Lynde stayed with them that night.

Diana, going to the east gable, where Anne was standing at her window, said gently: "Anne dear, would you like to have me sleep with you tonight ?" "Thank you, Diana." Anne looked earnestly into her friend's face.