oss the floor. An oval frame of
hair-flowers hung on the wall opposite me--a somber wreath of
immortelles for the departed--_of_ the departed--black, brown, auburn,
and grizzled-gray, with one touch (a calla lily, I think) of the
reddest hair I ever beheld. In one corner of the room stood a closed
cabinet organ; behind me, a tall base-burner, polished till it seemed
to light the dimmest corners of the room. There was no fire in the
stove; there was no air in the room, only the mingled breath of soot
and the hair-flowers and the plush album and the stuffed blue jay under
the bell-jar on the mantelpiece, and the heavy brass-clasped Bible.
There was no coffin in the room; but Joel took up the Bible and handed
it to me as if we were having a funeral.

"Read me that other account of Adam's farm," he said; "I can't see
without my specs."

In spite of a certain restraint of manner and evident uneasiness at the
situation, he had something of boldness, even the condescension of the
victor toward me. He was standing and looking down at me; yet he stood
ill at ease by the table.

"Sit down, Joel," I said, assuming an authority in his house that I saw
he could not quite feel.

"I can't; I 've got my overhalls on."

"Let us do all things decently and in order, Joel," I continued,
touching the great Book reverently.

"But I never set in this room. My chair's out there in the kitchen."

I moved over to the window to get what light I could, Joel following me
with furtive, sidelong glances, as if he saw ghosts in the dark corners.

"We keep this room mostly for funerals," he volunteered, in order to
stir up talk and lay what of the silence and the ghosts he could.

"I 'll read your story of Adam's farming first," I said, and began:
"These are the generations of the heavens and of the earth"--going on
with the account of the dry, rainless world, and with no man to till
the soil; then to the forming of Adam out of the dust, and the planting
of Eden; of the rivers, of God's mistake in trying Adam alone in the
Garden, of the rib made into Eve, of the prohibited tree, the snake,
the wormy apple, the fall, the curse, the thorns--and how, in order to
crown the curse and make it real, God drove the sinful pair forth from
the Garden and condemned them to farm for a living.

"That's it," Joel muttered with a mourner's groan. "That's Holy Writ
on farmin' as _I_ understand it. Now, where's the other story?"

"Here it is," I answ