he occasion. Around them autumn was at work among the yellow
leaves; but in their hearts it was all spring.

Next day Hedwig's grandmother called for the Eucharist. The teacher did
duty for the sexton, and carried the lantern for the parson: a
considerable portion of the congregation assembled at the door and
prayed while Maurita was being "served" within. The only reflection
occupying the teacher's thoughts during the ceremony was, "Would that
all freethinkers could meet death with equal confidence!" Maurita
received the sacrament with open, beaming eyes, then turned to the wall
and spoke no more. When they looked at her after a time, she was dead.

Maurita was buried with silent and devout sadness, unaccompanied by
loud weeping or wailing. The whole village mourned. Even old George the
blacksmith said, with a seriousness unusual to him, "I am so sorry she
is dead! My turn comes next."

When the teacher returned from the burial, Hedwig embraced him, and
said, weeping, "I want you more than ever now: I have no grandmother
any more."

The teacher had found another tie to attach him to the village: the
corpse of a friend rested in its soil.

[Illustration: The corpse of a friend rested in its soil.]

Thus we have accompanied the good Maurita to the entrance of the life
beyond, and the teacher to the opening of a new life on earth. We
cannot follow the good old grandmother to heaven: let us see, a little
longer, what happened to the teacher.

His betrothal had given great satisfaction throughout the village. Even
the children playing on the site of the fire were sometimes involved in
excited discussions, as they endeavored to explain their relationship
to Hedwig, and therefore to the teacher. Johnnie had not a great many
friends in the village; but this event gave pleasure to all. Everyone
whom the teacher met shook hands and wished him much joy and happiness.
Every one had something good to tell of Hedwig. Men and women who would
otherwise never have thought of conversing with the teacher now chatted
like old acquaintances. Mat came to his house, shook his hands warmly,
and said, "Ah, I was the one that told you it must come so: don't you
remember? You might have given me a farm and you wouldn't have pleased
me more. When the old teacher dies you shall have the two fields he
farms now: it's good land, and, if you'll let me know, I'll work two or
three days for you with pleasure."

The teacher was doubly pleased a