she's got a little fever
since all this excitement--guess I'll jes' let her be to-day."

"I do think it 'ud be better, Jud," said the Bishop gently.

And Jud pulled down his hat and slipped quietly out.

The mother never did understand from the child just what happened.
When she came in the Bishop had her so much better that the little
thing actually was playing with his ginger cake dolls, and had eaten
one of them.

It was bed time that night before the child finally whispered it
out: "Maw, did you ever see two men hug each other?"

"No--why?"

"Why, the Bishop he hugged Jud Carpenter so hard he fetched the bleed
out of his nose!"

It was her first and last sight of a ginger-man. Two days later she
was buried, and few save the old Bishop knew she had died; for
Cottontown did not care.

CHAPTER XX

A LIVE FUNERAL

The next Sunday was an interesting occasion--voted so by all
Cottontown when it was over. There was a large congregation out,
caused by the announcement of the Bishop the week before.

"Nex' Sunday I intend to preach Uncle Dave Dickey's funeral sermon.
I've talked to Dave about it an' he tells me he has got all kinds of
heart disease with a fair sprinklin' of liver an' kidney trouble an'
that he is liable to drap off any day.

"I am one of them that believes that whatever bouquets we have for
the dead will do 'em mo' good if given while they can smell; an'
whatever pretty things we've got to say over a coffin had better be
said whilst the deceased is up an' kickin' around an' can hear--an'
so Dave is pow'ful sot to it that I preach his fun'ral whilst he's
alive. An' I do hope that next Sunday you'll all come an' hear it.
An' all the bouquets you expect to give him when he passes away,
please fetch with you."

To-day Uncle Dave was out, dressed in his long-tail jeans frock suit
with high standing collar and big black stock. His face had been
cleanly shaved, and his hair, coming down to his shoulders, was cut
square away around his neck in the good old-fashioned way. He sat on
the front bench and looked very solemn and deeply impressed. On one
side of him sat Aunt Sally, and on the other, Tilly; and the coon
dog, which followed them everywhere, sat on its tail, well to the
front, looking the very essence of concentrated solemnity.

But the coon dog had several peculiar idiosyncrasies; one of them was
that he was always very deeply affected by music--especially any
music which sounded