anything like a dinner horn. As this was exactly
the way Miss Patsy Butts' organ music sounded, no sooner did she
strike up the first notes than the coon dog joined in, with his long
dismal howl--much to the disgust of Uncle Dave and his family.

This brought things to a standstill, and all the Hillites to
giggling, while Archie B. moved up and took his seat with the
mourners immediately behind the dog.

Tilly looked reproachfully at Aunt Sally; Aunt Sally looked
reproachfully at Uncle Dave, who passed the reproach on to the dog.

"There now," said Uncle Dave--"Sally an' Tilly both said so! They
both said I mustn't let him come."

He gave the dog a punch in the ribs with his huge foot. This hushed
him at once.

"Be quiet Dave," said the Bishop, sitting near--"it strikes me you're
pow'ful lively for a corpse. It's natural for a dog to howl at his
master's fun'ral."

The coon dog had come out intending to enter fully into the solemnity
of the occasion, and when the organ started again he promptly joined
in.

"I'm sorry," said the Bishop, "but I'll have to rise an' put the
chief mourner out."

It was unnecessary, for the chief mourner himself arose just then,
and began running frantically around the pulpit with snaps, howls and
sundry most painful barks.

Those who noticed closely observed that a clothes-pin had been
snapped bitingly on the very tip end of his tail, and as he finally
caught his bearing, and went down the aisle and out of the door with
a farewell howl, they could hear him tearing toward home, quite
satisfied that live funerals weren't the place for him.

What he wanted was a dead one.

"Maw!" said Miss Patsy Butts--"I wish you'd look after Archie B."

Everybody looked at Archie B., who looked up from a New Testament in
which he was deeply interested, surprised and grieved.

The organ started up again.

But it grew irksome to Miss Samantha Carewe seated on the third
bench.

"Ma," she whispered, "I've heard o' fun'rals in Irelan' where they
passed around refreshments--d'ye reckin this is goin' to be that
kind? I'm gittin' pow'ful hungry."

"Let us trust that the Lord will have it so," said her mother
devoutly.

Amid great solemnity the Bishop had gone into the pulpit and was
preaching:

"It may be a little onusual," he said, "to preach a man's fun'ral
whilst he's alive, but it will certn'ly do him mo' good than to
preach it after he's dead. If we're goin' to do any good to our
felle