All  the  neighbors  came  to  condole  with
our  heroine,  and,  though  nobody  was  aware
of  it,  from  that  time  she  was  really  happier
and  better  satisfied  with  life  than  she  had
ever  been  before.  Now  that  she  had  an
ideal  Jerry  Lane  to  mourn  over  and  think
about,  to  cherish  and  admire,  she  was  day
by  day  slowly  forgetting  the  trouble  he  had
been  and  the  bitter  shame  of  him,  and  ex-
alting his  memory  to  something  near  saint-
liness.  "He  meant  well,"  she  told  herself
again  and  again.  She  thought  nobody  could
tell  so  good  a  story ;  she  felt  that  with  her
own  bustling,  capable  ways  he  had  no  chance
to  do  much  that  he  might  have  done.  She
had  been  too  quick  with  him,  and  alas,  alas  I


124  MARSH  ROSEMARY.
