ting it off," said Phillis. "I might as well tell
you, first as last. She's dead."

"Dead, what do you mean?" said Nancy.

"I mean she's dead," said Phillis, "and cold, and very likely has been so,
for most of the night. Don't be frightened and make a noise, for Miss Alice
is very sick, and you're so near the house."

Nancy went with her to the other room. A child would have known there was
no mistake about death's being there, if the idea had been suggested to it.
Nancy was in a moment satisfied that such was the case, but she shed very
few tears. She was quite worn out taking care of the old woman, and the
other servants were not willing to take their turns. They said they
"couldn't abide the cross, ill-natured old thing."

Phillis went home for a few moments, and returned to perform the last
offices. All was order and neatness under her superintendence; and they who
avoided the sight of Aunt Peggy when alive, stood with a solemn awe beside
her and gazed, now that she was dead.

All but the children. Aunt Peggy was dead! She who had been a kind of
scarecrow in life, how terrible was the thought of her now! The severest
threat to an unruly child was, "I will give you to Aunt Peggy, and let her
keep you." But to think of Aunt Peggy in connection with darkness, and
silence, and the grave, was dreadful indeed. All day the thought of her
kept them awed and quiet; but as evening drew on, they crept close to their
mothers' side, turning from every shadow, lest she should come forth from
it. Little Lydia, deprived of Miss Janet's company in consequence of
Alice's sickness, listened to the pervading subject of conversation all
day, and at night dreamed that the old woman had carried her off to the top
of the highest of the mountains that stood before them; and there she sat
scowling upon her, and there, they were to be forever.

When the next afternoon had come, and the body was buried, and all had
returned from the funeral, Phillis locked up the vacant cabin. Nancy was
to be employed in the house, and sleep in the servants' wing. Then Phillis
realized that death had been there, and she remembered once more, Aunt
Peggy's words, "He's arter somefin, wants it, and he's gwine to have it;
but it ain't me."

There is one thing concerning death in which we are apt to be sceptical,
and that is, "Does he want me?"

CHAPTER XV.

Aunt Peggy's funeral was conducted quietly, but with that respect to the
dead which is uni