omethin', or
like you'd rubbed down the page when the ink was wet, an' had blurred
the whole thing unreadable. An' I judged that, like enough, she knew
nothin' whatever about grave-linin', done civilized.

"'I mean, I thought mebbe you'd like to help us some,' I says.

"'I would!' s'she, at that, rill ready an' quick. An' it come to me 't
she knew now what _help_ meant. She'd learnt it the night before from
Jennie's mother--like she'd learnt to answer a bell when Somebody
pressed it. Only, o' course she never guessed Who it was ringin'
it--like you don't at first.

"So I made up my mind I'd take her to the cemet'ry. We done the work up
first, an' 'Leven spried 'round for me, wipin' the dishes with the
wipin' cloth in a bunch, an' settin' 'em up wrong places. An' I did hev
to go in the butt'ry an' laugh to see her sweep up. She swep' up some
like her broom was a branch an' the wind a-switchin' it.

"Mis' Toplady an' Mis' Holcomb stopped by for us, with the white cotton
cloth an' the tacks, an' by nine o'clock we was over to the cemet'ry.
The grave was all dug an' lined with nice pine boards, an' the dirt
piled 'longside, an' the boards for coverin' an' the spades layin' near.
Zittelhof was just leavin', havin' got in his pulley things to lower
'em. Zittelhof's rill up to date. Him an' Mink, the barber, keep runnin'
each other to see who can get the most citified things. No sooner'd
Zittelhof get his pulleys than Mink, he put in shower-baths. An' when
Mink bought a buzz fan, Zittelhof sent for the lavender cloth to spread
over 'em before the coffin comes. It makes it rill nice for Friendship.

"'Who's goin to get down in?' says Mis' Toplady, shakin' out the cloth.

Mis' Toplady always use' to be the one, but she can't do that any more
since she got so heavy. An' Mis' Holcomb's rheumatism was bad that day
an' the grave middlin' damp, so it was for me to do. An' all of a sudden
I says:--

"''Leven, you just get down in there, will you? An' we'll tell you how.'

"'_In the grave?_' says 'Leven.

"I guess I'm some firm-mannered, just by takin' things for granted, an'
I says, noddin':--

"'Yes. You're the lightest on your feet,' I says--an' I sort o' shoved
at her, bird to young, an' she jumped down in, not bein' able to help
it.

"'Here,' s'I, flingin' her an end o' cloth, 'tack it 'round smooth to
them boards.'

"'Mother o' God,' says she, swallowin' in her breath.

"But she done it. She knelt down there in th