"Miss Travers?" Patsy tugged at her mother's skirt again. "Did she die?"

Mrs. Patterson was embarrassed and she didn't answer.

"I bet she'd be surprised if she knew she was dead today," Patsy said. The thought rode arrogantly on the young voico. If the bees ceased their humming the adults in that garden could not tell it. The air was rigid,

"Did she go quick?" Mrs. Patterson groped like one feeling in the dark with her hands.

"Went in her sleep, poor soul," not knowing why she pitied her. "Went into her room like always to give her fresh towels and all that. She's usually up by seven paintin' avay."

"That's the best way to go, I guess, in your sleep."

lookit. Mommy?"

"Mommy, lookit.

"Can't you see your Mother's talking, Patsy? Umye ah, yeah, it's right pretty. Now go play." She leaned over and fumbled with the leaves. "I'm real lucky with my petunias this year." A minute pause settled the statement and then; "Poor Miss Travers. Why I remember just yesterd'y when I was putting out my garbeege I seen her puttering about în your flowers. We just never know do we." She reached down under her dress at the shoulder and pulled the dangling strap up out of sight. "Beside of the father, didn't sho have some...what-ya-ma-call-its...relations or something?"

"Not as I know of," said Mrs. Malone.

"Wo oughtta be a darn sight glad we got our own with us," Mrs. Patterson said. "We never got really friendly with Miss Travers, you know. If only I'd of told her that I didn't believe all that poppycook that went around about hor. If..if only..before she..."

"Yeh, I know," said Mrs. Malone, nodding affirmatively at the unexpressed. "I was fixin' to, but..."

6