The blue haze lay like a ribbon through the valley and across the hills; the air was still, and full of the pungent fragrance of burning brush, and yellow leaves rustled about her feet.

The faded grass had been beaten down by the rain, and was matted above the graves; here and there a frosted weed stood straight and thin against the low soft sky; some late golden-rod blazed along the edge of the meadow among the purple asters, and a single stalk of cardinal flowers flashed out beside the lichen-covered wall; but all the rest of the world was a blur of yellow and gray.

Helen sat down on a stone, and listened to the small wood sounds around her.

A beech leaf, twisted like the keel of a fantastic boat, came pattering down on the dead leaves; a bird stirred in the pine behind her, and now and then a cricket gave a muffled chirp.
It was here Mr.Dale found her, her head resting forlornly on her hands; she was absently watching a gray squirrel who had ventured from his cover in the wall, and was looking at her with curious twinkling eyes.
"My dear," said Mr.Dale gently, "they told me at the rectory they thought you were up here, so I came to see if you would let me walk home with you." Helen started as he spoke, and the squirrel scampered away.

"Did you come for that ?" she said, touched in spite of her bitter thoughts.
Mr.Dale pushed his broad-brimmed hat back on his head, so that his face seemed to have a black aureola around it.