Then they fell to discussing the probabilities of her future course. It
was not easy to predict.

"The Squire's left every thing to her, just as if she was a man. She can
sell the property right off, if she wants to, and go and live where she
likes," they said.

"Well, you may set your minds to rest on that," said old Deacon Little,
who had been the young squire's most intimate friend, and who knew Hetty
as well as if she were his own child, and loved her better; for his own
children, poor man, had nearly brought his gray hairs down to the grave
with distress and shame.

"Hetty Gunn'll never sell that farm, not a stick nor a stone on't, any
more than the old Squire himself would. You'll see, she'll keep it a
goin', jest the same's ever. It's a thousand pities, she warn't born a
boy."

II.

The funeral took place late in the afternoon of a warm April day. The
roads were very muddy, and the long procession wound back to the village
about as slowly as it had gone out. One by one, wagon after wagon fell
out of the line, and turned off to the right or left, until there were
left only the Gunns' big carryall, in which sat Hetty, with her two
house-servants,--an old black man and his wife, who had been in her
father's house so long, that their original patronymic had fallen
entirely out of use, and they were known as "Caesar Gunn" and "Nan Gunn"
the town over. Behind this followed their farm wagon, in which sat the
farmer and his wife with their babies, and the two farm laborers,--all
Irish, and all crying audibly after the fashion of their race. As they
turned into the long avenue of pines which led up to the house, their
grief broke out louder and louder; and, when the wagon stopped in front
of the western piazza, their sobs and cries became howls and shrieks.
Hetty, who was just entering the front-door, turned suddenly, and
walking swiftly toward them, said, in a clear firm tone,--

"Look here! Mike, Dan, Norah, I'm ashamed of you. Don't you see you're
frightening the poor little children? Be quiet. The one who loved my
father most will be the first one to go about his work as if nothing had
happened. Mike, saddle the pony for me at six. I am going to ride over
to Deacon Little's."

The men were too astonished to reply, but gazed at her dumbly. Mike
muttered sullenly, as he drove on,--

"An' it's a quare way to be showin' our love, I'm thinkin'."

"An' it's Miss Hetty's own way thin, by Jasus!" answered