She wept a few bitter tears above the grave.

The death of the little dog was like her last link with her dear old friend.

The day had the bright, clear, strong sunshine of March.

There were yet drifts of snow in the valleys among the hills, but spring was coming, and the bare boughs would soon be thick with the buds of leafage.

She took one look at the sunny, green place and the old house which had harboured her so kindly.