was children -- or robins. I've seen her bend
over an' kiss 'em." He dragged out another weed
and scowled at it. "That were as much as ten
year' ago."

"Where is she now?" asked Mary, much interested.

"Heaven," he answered, and drove his spade
deep into the soil, "'cording to what parson says."

"What happened to the roses?" Mary asked
again, more interested than ever.

"They was left to themselves."

Mary was becoming quite excited.

"Did they quite die? Do roses quite die when
they are left to themselves?" she ventured.

"Well, I'd got to like 'em -- an' I liked her -- an'
she liked 'em," Ben Weatherstaff admitted
reluctantly. "Once or twice a year I'd go an'
work at 'em a bit -- prune 'em an' dig about th'
roots. They run wild, but they was in rich soil,
so some of 'em lived."

"When they have no leaves and look gray and
brown and dry, how can you tell whether they are
dead or alive?" inquired Mary.

"Wait till th' spring gets at 'em -- wait till th'
sun shines on th' rain an' th' rain falls on th' sunshine
an' then tha'll find out."

"How -- how?" cried Mary, forgetting to be
careful.

[[117]]

p116 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p117w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p118

v?