Kilmeny of the Orchard 
     
    
   
   
    
     the records of outlived pain. She talked 
     
     little as-a rule; but, in the pungent coun- 
     
     try phrase she never spoke but she said 
     
     something. The one thing that constantly 
     
     puzzled Eric was how such a woman ever 
     
     came to marry Robert Williamson. 
     
    

    
     She smiled in a motherly fashion at 
     
     Eric, as he hung his hat on the white- 
     
     washed wall and took his place at the 
     
     table. Outside of the window behind him 
     
     was a birch grove which, in the westering 
     
     sun, was a tremulous splendour, with a 
     
     sea of undergrowth wavered into golden 
     
     billows by every passing wind. 
     
    

    
     Old Robert Williamson sat opposite to 
     
     him, on a bench. He was a small, lean 
     
     old man, half lost in loose clothes that 
     
     seemed far too large for him. When he 
     
     spoke his voice was as thin and squeaky 
     
     as he appeared to be himself. 
     
    

    
     The other end of the bench was oc- 
     
     cupied by Timothy, sleek and complacent, 
     
     with a snowy breast and white paws. 
     
     After old Robert had taken a mouthful 
     
    
   
   
    
     .43