into wood, or pulp, or something," Emma said to Syringa, in discussing it later.
Seated downstairs at the dining-room table, with all three of the sisters hovering about her (her mother had been wheeled into the dining-room when Reba was upstairs) and Syringa appearing now and then from the kitchen, Reba was as composed and tranquil as if it were the usual thing to drop in on her family like this, without bag or baggage, unexpected, and unannounced.
David slunk into the room before Reba had been seated at the table long, on the pretext of asking her for her trunk-check.
"I haven't any check," she replied, coolly. "I haven't brought anything with me. But I've written back to have my things sent, so they'll be here in a day or two."
"Do you mean to tell us you've gone and actually given up your place down there with the Red Cross people?" her dazed father asked for himself.
"I mean to tell you that I'm going to give it up. I shall send in my resignation within a week."
"But what are you planning to do around here?" after a pause he inquired wonderingly.
"I don't know—just stay here, I suppose."
It was Aunt Augusta's sharp eyes that first spied the wide gold band on Reba's finger. At least it was Aunt Augusta who first spoke of it. Reba had not removed her wedding-ring. There was to be no more deceit about her marriage. In the back seat of the little church, in the dark of her bowed head and closed eyes, while the choir had been singing, Reba had de-
