I took the glass willingly and seated myself by Cynthia. Before I put my eyes to the glass, they rested upon the bag which reposed at Cynthia's side.
"I'm so glad I brought it," said she. "Aunt Mary 'Zekel worked it for me."
"It's a curious-looking bag," ventured I. "What are those funny-looking white things on the side, made of glass beads?"
"There's nothing funny at all about that bag, Mr. Jones. That's our family plot."
"Your what?"
"Plot—our family plot. Aunt Mary 'Zekel worked it for me. She said she thought it would be a pleasant reminder of home. That's her tomb in the middle. Don't you see her initials: 'M. S. A.'—Mary Schuyler Archer?"
"Is she inside of it?"
"Who? Aunt Mary 'Zekel? Mercy, no! She's just as much alive as you are. At least, she was when I left home. There's her tomb in the middle. Uncle 'Zekel's buried inside of it."
I withdrew my eyes from the Yankee Blade.
"Isn't he rather heavy to carry round?"