Betty leaned forward for one more look at the window, on whose sill she had passed so many happy afternoons reading to Davy.

The board was still leaning against the house, where she had propped it.
"Good-bye, dear old church," she said softly to herself.
They drove around the corner of the little neglected graveyard, where the headstones gleamed white in the morning sunshine, above the dark, glossy green of the myrtle vines.

How peaceful and quiet it seemed.

The dew still shone in tiny beads on the cobwebs, spun across the grass, a spicy smell of cedar boughs floated across the road to them, and a dove called somewhere in the distant woodlands.

As they passed, a wild rose hung over the gray pickets of the straggling old fence, and waved a spray of pale pink blossoms to them.
"Good-bye," she whispered, turning for one more look at the familiar headstones.