Stifling a smile Sarah said, “James is no longer at home. He has gone to war with his regiment.”

“And you haven’t said—how is Leon?”

After a moment’s hesitation Sarah said, “Leon is dead and buried these three and a half months.”

“Ah!” Lauretta wailed in despair. “I should have guessed it! You in black; but somehow I associated it with the war. And they were all in black on the porch too. Oh, it is a sad, cruel time. My poor Leon!” Lauretta cried.

Ignoring her tears Sarah said quietly, “Now, what of you, my dear? You have not told me how you happen to be here.”

Lauretta wept the harder for another minute or so, and Sarah waited as patiently as she could. When Lauretta had composed herself, she said calmly enough, “When I left you, nearly eight years ago—”

Sarah interrupted. “My dear Lauretta, I have ten gallons of cucumbers boiling to make pickles. If we start with eight years ago, we shall be at it all day and well into the night. Pick up a little closer to the present, do.”

“Surely Myrtis knows how to make cucumber pickles!” Lauretta protested tartly.

“She likes me to test them. Proceed, if you will; otherwise I must leave you for a while.”