had ridden hard from Hillsboro for that
parting; Lull and Charlie See and old Pete. It was to one of these
that all eyes were turned when the rude coffin was lowered into the
grave.

"Pete?" said Jim-Ike-Jones.

And old Pete Harkey stepped forth and spoke slowly, while his faded
old eyes looked past the open grave and rested on the hills beyond.

"More than at any other time we strive to center and steady our
thoughts, when we stand by the loved and dead. It is an effort as vain
as to look full and steadily at the blinding sun. I can tell you no
thing here which you do not know.

"You all knew Adam Forbes. He was a simple and kindly man. He brought
a good courage to living, he was all help and laughter, he joyed in
the sting and relish of rushing life. Those of you here who were most
unfriends to him will not soon forget that gay, reckless,
tender-hearted creature.

"You know his faults. He was given to hasty wrath, to stubbornness and
violence. His hand was heavy. If there are any here who have been
wronged by this dead man--as I think most like--let the memory of it
be buried in this grave. It was never his way to walk blameless. He
did many things amiss; he took wrong turnings. But he was never too
proud to turn back, to admit a mistake or to right his wrongdoing. He
paid for what he broke.

"For the rest--he fed the hungry, helped the weak, he nursed the sick
and dug graves for the dead. Now, in his turn, it is fitting and just
that no bought hand dug this grave, but that his friends and his foes
did him this last service, and called pleasant dreams to his long
sleep.

"We have our dear dreams, too. It can do no harm to dream that
somewhere down the skies that brightness and fire and light still
flames--but not for us.

"It is written that upon Mars Hill the men of Athens built an altar
'to the Unknown God.' It was well builded; and with no misgiving we
leave our friend to the care--and to the honor--of the Unknown God."

He stood back; and from the women who wept came one who did not weep,
dry-eyed and pale; whose pitying hand dropped the first earth into the
grave.

"Stardust to Stardust," said Edith Harkey.

* * * * *

That night Pete Harkey stood by the big fireplace of the big lonesome
house.

"Shall I light the fire, Edith?"

"Not to-night, father."

In the dimness he groped for a chair; he took her on his knee, her
arms clung fast.

"Is it well with you,