rth and shaping a mound on the surface.

The hearse, the black-plumed horses, and the undertaker's men went away.
Jake and Mandy again fell in behind Lizzie and they walked down the hill
to the deserted house.

"I cooked enough fer yo' supper, Mis' Trott," Mandy said at the gate.
"Jake say dat I mustn't come back ter you any mo'."

"Very well, Mandy," Lizzie said, wearily. "Good-by."

"Good-by, Mis' Trott. Me 'n' Jake bofe sorry fer you."

"Yas'm, we is," Jake intoned, doffing his hat and sliding his flat feet
backward.

The interior of the house was still and shadowy. Lizzie sat down in that
best dark dress of hers in the parlor. She was beginning to pity
herself, for it was all so very, very terrible. How could she go on
living there? And yet, whither was she to go? She rose. She started up
the stairs with the strange intention of again visiting John's old room,
but in the hall she stopped. "How silly!" she thought. "What am I going
up there for?" The slanting rays of the lowering sun fell through the
narrow side-lights of the door and lay on the floor at her feet. She
shuddered. It would soon be night again and how could she pass the dark
hours?--for something told her that she would not sleep soundly. She had
never felt less like sleeping, though she had not lost consciousness for
two days and two nights. Then a self-protective idea entered her
confused reflections, and she acted on it. She found among her
belongings a piece of broad black ribbon, and, forming a bow and
streamers of it, she hung it on the front door-knob, together with a
card on which she had written, "Not at home." That would keep people
away--her friends and Jane's--and she was in no mood to entertain any
one. The ribbon and card would speak of John, of Dora, of Jane, and the
boldest would respect their significance.

In her own room Lizzie changed her dress. She felt like it, and she put
on her oldest and plainest gown. She drew off her rings and bracelets
and dropped them into a drawer. Something psychological was happening to
her which she could not have analyzed had she had far more occult
knowledge than she possessed. She remembered that her mother had dressed
plainly in those far-off days which now seemed so sweet and restful, and
somehow she wanted to be like her mother.

It was sundown. It would soon be dark, she told herself, with a cool
shudder and a little groan of despair. Suddenly she heard a sound as of
the gate being closed