Chapter 17

           

           Anotherbrightdayshininginthroughthesmallcasement,andclaimingfellowshipwiththekindredeyesofthechild,awokeher.Atsightofthestrangeroomanditsunaccustomedobjectsshestartedupinalarm,wonderinghowshehadbeenmovedfromthefamiliarchamberinwhichsheseemedtohavefallenasleeplastnight,andwhithershehadbeenconveyed.But,anotherglancearoundcalledtohermindallthathadlatelypassed,andshesprungfromherbed,hopingandtrustful.

           Itwasyetearly,andtheoldmanbeingstillasleep,shewalkedoutintothechurchyard,brushingthedewfromthelonggrasswithherfeet,andoftenturningasideintoplaceswhereitgrewlongerthaninothers,thatshemightnottreaduponthegraves.Shefeltacuriouskindofpleasureinlingeringamongthesehousesofthedead,andreadtheinscriptionsonthetombsofthegoodpeople(agreatnumberofgoodpeoplewereburiedthere),passingonfromonetoanotherwithincreasinginterest.

           Itwasaveryquietplace,assuchaplaceshouldbe,saveforthecawingoftherookswhohadbuilttheirnestsamongthebranchesofsometalloldtrees,andwerecallingtooneanother,highupintheair.First,onesleekbird,hoveringnearhisraggedhouseasitswunganddangledinthewind,utteredhishoarsecry,quitebychanceasitwouldseem,andinasobertoneasthoughhewerebuttalkingtohimself.Anotheranswered,andhecalledagain,butlouderthanbefore;thenanotherspokeandthenanother;andeachtimethefirst,aggravatedbycontradiction,insistedonhiscasemorestrongly.

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