that declared that to mind one's own
business was the highest duty of man. No one in Green Valley, not even
Cynthia's son, could make the huge man understand that he in a sense
was little Jim's keeper; that since Jim could not save himself the
strong men of the community would have to do it for him. George
wondered at the seriousness with which the thing was discussed. He
treated it as a joke. And this attitude was doing more harm than if he
had been bitterly hostile to the idea.

The Civic League was counting the votes, wondering if Green Valley
could go dry over George Hoskins' head. But Grandma Wentworth was
hoping for one more miracle before election day.

"Something'll happen to swing George into line. We Green Valley people
have always done everything together. It would spoil things to have
one half the town fighting the other half. We must do this thing with
everybody's consent or it will do no good. So let's hope for a
miracle."

And then the whole thing was wiped out of everybody's mind by the death
of Mary Hoskins. It was over at last and nobody but the doctor knew
how hard the big man had fought for his wife's life. So nobody quite
guessed the bitterness of the big man's grief. But everybody had heard
that Mary's last words were a plea to have little Jim sing her to her
last sleep and resting-place. And George had promised that Jim would
sing.

Jim had been drinking so steadily of late that he was a wreck. People
wondered if he could sing. When they told him his sister was dead he
laughed miserably and said nothing. No one was surprised when the hour
for the funeral services arrived to find Jim missing. Messengers had
to be sent out. They searched the town but could find no trace of Jim.
For an hour Green Valley waited in that still home. Then the
undertaker from Elmwood whispered something to the crushed, terrified
giant who stood staring at the dead face of his wife like a soul in
torment.

Mary Hoskins left her home without the song George had promised her.

At the grave there was another, a more terrible wait.

"My God--wait! They'll find him. God, men--wait--wait! I can't bury
her, without Jim's song. I promised her--I tell you I promised--oh, my
God--it was the last thing she wanted--and I promised."

So Green Valley waited, with horror in its eyes and the bitterness of
death in its heart. As the minutes dragged women began to sob
hysterically, in nervous terror. Men l