"Let me know your San Francisco address," she said, "and I will write you when to meet me in Alton."
"All right!"
The mason walked back with her down the hill to the grave of her little boy. He would have turned back here, but she gently encouraged him to come with her and stand beside the flower-laden grave. It seemed to her, after what he had done in risking his life to rescue the child, he had more right to be there than any one else except herself—far more than her child's own father. They stood there silently at the foot of the little mound for some minutes, until Adelle spoke in a perfectly natural voice.
"I'd have wanted him to do some real work, if he had grown up—I mean like yours, and become a strong man."
"He was a mighty nice little kid," the mason observed, remembering well the child, who had often that summer played about his staging and talked to him.
Adelle explained her scheme of treatment for the grave and the grounds about it, and they walked slowly down the path to the orangery.
"Would you like me to fix it all up as you want it?" the mason asked.
"Would you?"
"All right—I'll start in to-day and you can watch me and see if it's done right."
"But you wanted to go up to the city," Adelle suggested.