Will they come again? he wondered.
When he came to the gate of the cemetery he found it open.
He went in quickly and walked swiftly up the winding road that curved around the crest of the hill.
The grasses were dry and sere; a wilted wreath of laurel lay upon a grave.
As he approached the family plot, his pulse quickened a little.
Some one was moving slowly, deliberately, in among the grave-stones.
But as he came up he saw that it was Mrs. Pert.
“Good-evening, Mrs. Pert,” said Eugene.
“Who is it?” she asked, peering murkily.
She came to him with her grave unsteady step.
“It’s ‘Gene,” he said.
“Oh, is it Old ‘Gene?” she said.
“How are you, ‘Gene?”
“Pretty well,” he said.
He stood awkwardly, chilled, not knowing how to continue.
It was getting dark.
There were long lonely preludes to winter in the splendid pines, and a whistling of wind in the long grasses.
Below them, in the gulch, night had come.
There was a negro settlement there — Stumptown, it was called.
The rich voices of Africa wailed up to them their jungle dirge.
But in the distance, away on their level and above, on other hills, they saw the town.
Slowly, in twinkling nests, the lights of the town went up, and there were frost-far voices, and music, and the laughter of a girl.
“This is a nice place,” said Eugene.
“You get a nice view of the town from here.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pert. “And Old Ben’s got the nicest place of all.
You get a better view right here than anywhere else.
I’ve been here before in the daytime.”
In a moment she went on. “Old Ben will turn into lovely flowers.
Roses, I think.”
“No,” said Eugene, “dandelions — and big flowers with a lot of thorns on them.”
She stood looking about fuzzily for a moment, with the blurred gentle smile on her lips.
“It is getting dark, Mrs. Pert,” said Eugene hesitantly.
“Are you out here alone?”
“Alone?
I’ve got Old ‘Gene and Old Ben here, haven’t I?” she said.
“Maybe we’d better go back, Mrs. Pert?” he said.
“It’s going to turn cold to-night.
I’ll go with you.”
“Fatty can go by herself,” she said with dignity.
“Don’t worry, ‘Gene.
I’ll leave you alone.”
“That’s all right,” said Eugene, confused.
“We both came for the same reason, I suppose.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pert.
“Who’ll be coming here this time next year, I wonder?
Will Old ‘Gene come back then?”
“No,” said Eugene. “No, Mrs. Pert.
I shall never come here again.”
“Nor I, ‘Gene,” she said.
“When do you go back to school?”