professed much sorrow for us all. How are your side this
morning?"

"I got out that foolish dry plaster Tom made me more'n a month ago and
put it on last night, 'cause I didn't want to disturb you, and to my
surprise they ain't a mite of pain hit me since. But I guess it are
mostly the clearing weather that have stopped it."

"Maybe a little of both," answered the Doctor's mother with a smile,
"but anyway, it's good that you ain't a-suffering none. We must all
take good care of each other's pains from now on, 'cause we are most
valuable one to another. Friends is one kind of treasure you don't want
to lay up in Heaven."

"I spend most of my time thinking about folks' accidents and hurts and
pains," answered Mrs. Peavey in all truth. "Miss Elinory, did you
gargle your throat with that slippery-ellum tea I thought about to make
for you last week?"

"Yes, Mrs. Peavey, I did," answered Miss Wingate quickly, for she had
performed that nauseous operation actuated by positive fear of Mrs.
Peavey if she should discover a failure to follow her directions.

"It'll cure you, maybe," answered the gratified neighbor. "There's the
bell and let's all go on slow and respectful."

And the sweet-toned old Providence Meeting-house bell was tolling its
notes for the passing of the soul of the gentle little Harpeth woman of
many sorrows as her friends and neighbors walked quietly down the Road,
along the dim aisle and took their places in the old pews with a
fitting solemnity on their serious faces. The young Circuit Rider spoke
to them from a full heart in sympathetically simple words and Pattie
Hoover led the congregation from behind the little cabinet organ in a
few of the Deacon's favorite hymns.

Then the little procession wound its way among the graves over to a
corner under an old cedar tree, where the stout young farmers laid
their frail burden down for its long sleep. The Deacon stood close by
and the children clung around his thin old legs, to his hands, and
reached to grasp at a corner of his coat. Eliza laid her head against
his shoulder and Henny and 'Lias crowded close on the other side, while
Bud held the old black hat he had taken from off his white hair, in
careful, shaking little hands. The singer lady, with the Doctor at her
side and her hand in Mother Mayberry's, stood just opposite and the
others came near.

The simple service that the Church has instituted for the committing of
its dead to the grave had been