But all that was said need not be told here. By and by, he rose and went out, and when he came back, he held an open book on his hand, and on one of its open pages lay a spray of withered ivy, gathered, he said, from the kirkyard wall, from a great branch that hung down over the spot where their mother lay. And when he had laid it down on Graeme’s lap, he turned and went out again.
“I mind the spot well,” said Mrs Snow, softly.
“I mind it, too,” said Graeme.
Rose did not “mind” it, nor any other spot of her native land, nor the young mother who had lain so many years beneath the drooping ivy. But she stooped to touch with her lips, the faded leaves that spoke of her, and then she laid her cheek down on Graeme’s knee, and did not speak a word, except to say that she had quite forgotten all.
By and by, Mr Snow came in, and something was said about showing Merleville to their visitor, and so arranging matters that time should be made to pass pleasantly to him.
“Oh! as to that, he seems no’ ill to please,” said Mrs Snow. “Miss Graeme might take him down to the village to Mr Greenleaf’s and young Mr Merle’s, if she likes; but, as to letting him see Merleville, I think the thing that is of most importance is, that all Merleville should see him.”
“There is something in that. I don’t suppose Merleville is any more to him than any other place, except that Harry and the rest had their home here, for a spell. But all the Merleville folks will want to see him, I expect.”
Rose laughingly suggested that a town meeting should be called for the purpose.
“Well, I calculate that won’t be necessary. If he stays over Sunday, it will do as well. The folks will have a chance to see him at meeting, though, I suppose it won’t be best to tell him so, before he goes. Do you suppose he means to stay over Sunday, Rosie?”
“I haven’t asked him,” said Rose.