Patsy and Benjamin, her husband, were talking about their first and second weddings, and of Caleb, their son. They were also thinking of Rahab, Caleb's teacher.

"We have been blessed in the number of our weddings," said she.

"Yes; but cursed in Caleb," he replied.

"Our last wedding, as free people, was not equal to the first as slaves."

"That was because Caleb came in between."

"How many ex-slaves have considered the significance of these second weddings?"

"How many fathers and mothers have been cursed by only sons?"

Caleb entered the room as his father uttered these words, and struck him violently over the heart. The old man straightened up, gasped spasmodically, clutched at his breast wildly, and then fell heavily to the floor. Caleb, with a parting sneer, left the room, while Patsy ran to the aid of her husband. She turned him on his back, opened his shirt at the neck, but her efforts were of no avail. Benjamin was dead.

Patsy did not report Caleb for the murder of his father, but went on thinking her own theology and asking Rahab to explain.

"A thirty-dollar coffin? No, no, undertaker! A five-dollar robe? No, no, undertaker! Four carriages? No, no, undertaker! Think you the living have no rights? Cold, rigid dignity will suffice the dead, but the living must have money. He was my father, and I am his heir; therefore, speedy forgetfulness for the one and luxury for the other. Five hundred dollars are upon his life. As four hundred and fifty slip through my fingers I'll remember I owe him something for dying a pauper. Twenty dollars will keep Patsy chewing starch; and you, undertaker, may have the rest, and the thanks of science for your services. Why gaze upon the dead? Think you how you can make it twenty? At twenty? At twenty, you say? Cigars, cigars, ten dollars for cigars. You can't? Out! Out! Out! Offend not the living by pitying the dead."

Caleb thus addressed the undertaker while gazing upon the dead body of his father.

As the undertaker left the room Patsy hobbled in upon her crutches, sat close to the corpse and sobbed aloud.

"Why those tears, old woman?" asked Caleb.

"Where is your heart, Caleb, my boy?"

"In the twenty dollars you hold in your hand. Disgrace, and disgrace, and ever disgrace! The old man was a boaster in life and a pauper in death. Now you would spend for starch what I should spend for cigars. No more disgrace for the family, old woman. Eschew starch, bless your son, and hie you to the washtub."

He took the money and arranged it in the shape of a cigar.

Patsy looked lovingly at Caleb, and considered Rahab's offer to preach Benjamin's funeral sermon.

On the day of Benjamin's funeral Rahab was present. Patsy gave him a chair close to the coffin. The people were so seated that egress was impossible.

Leaning upon her crutches and gazing straight into Rahab's face, Patsy gave out, and the people sang: "A charge to keep I have, a God to glorify."

Rahab looked at the corpse; and, seeing a sermon in the cold, rigid form, turned and looked at Patsy. "Beware of the immediate future," said she.

Rahab trembled, stammered something, and looked at the ceiling. Patsy brought her crutch in close proximity to his head.

Said she, keeping her crutch in motion and her eye in Rahab's: "Words of the dead to the dead avail little. Were it not for your presence there would be no funeral sermon. The man in the coffin is not dead, but sleeping. Why should we disturb his slumbers? You have just life enough to hear your doom. Why should we not pronounce it?"

Rahab started to rise. Patsy moved her crutch, and the people sang: "That awful day will surely come."

Rahab dropped back into his seat and looked wildly around the room.

Patsy laid her hand gently upon his shoulder and said: "Rahab, Benjamin's blood is in part upon your hands. Caleb believed you when you said that God would curse him. After seeing your crimes he believed that God had cursed both. To be cursed, he thinks, gives the right to curse. Rahab, the Master is waiting and calling."

"He is waiting," said Rahab; "but not to bless."

The people sang: "While the lamp holds out to burn the vilest sinner may return."

Rahab raised himself up with difficulty and pitched forward upon the floor.

"Rahab, what do you see?" asked Patsy.

"I see Caleb's undoing between me and the New Jerusalem. Fool was I. I won his confidence, and led him to believe false doctrine. God, pardon Caleb. I sinned in his sight and laughed at his virtue. Damn not Caleb, O God, but me."

Rahab ceased to speak and was carried out. His last words were: "Damn not Caleb, O God, but me."

Some said he died of excitement; others said it was of pure consciousness of guilt.

A few weeks passed. The night was cold, and Patsy was dying. Caleb sat in a corner of the room. In his mouth was a lighted cigar. At his feet was a split-covered box, from which came a sound that was music to his ears.

On a similar night about a year before Patsy cried out pitifully: "My baby, my Caleb, perdition, perdition!" She had sprung forward, as though about to clutch something, and had struck her head against the stove, inflicting an ugly wound.

"It was all a dream," she afterwards said. "Methought my Caleb was a babe again. I pressed him to my heart and crooned one of those nonsensical baby ditties so old, yet so sweet to the mother's heart. When he said 'Dad,' 'Dad,' I held him up and kissed his chin, mouth, nose, eyes, and forehead. I looked five years ahead and saw him clinging to my dress while I gathered roses for his brow. I looked ten years ahead and saw him among his schoolmates, contending for the mastery in sports and studies. Again I looked and saw him a man of thirty, I, bent and gray, leaning upon his arm, receiving the confidence of the wise, the respect of the just. Time, the robber, would steal my angel. I held him up and kissed his hands and feet over and over. I fell asleep. When I awoke my baby was lying upon the floor. Thinking it was hurt, I screamed: 'My baby.' Straightway it turned into Caleb, the man, and I called: 'My Caleb!' A flame of fire sprang up and began to circle him round. Then it was I cried: 'Perdition, perdition!' and sprang to help him. This ugly wound on my head will be my death; but Caleb, Caleb!"

The night was cold, and Patsy was dying. Caleb sat in a corner of the room. In one hand was the stump of a cigar. In the other was a chicken, still making the sound that was music to his ears. When Patsy's groans disturbed him he moved the empty box with his feet.

"Old woman," said he, "I have stolen a chicken. Will you be my guest?"

"Caleb," groaned Patsy, "you should not steal."

His answer was: "Old woman, you should not meddle."

"Caleb, have you seen my chicken?" asked a voice without.

"Would you disgrace your mother in death?" asked Patsy, with great effort.

"Would you starve me in life?" was Caleb's reply.

"My chicken, my chicken!" roared the voice without.

"It is fat and tender," chuckled Caleb.

Patsy's last words on earth were: "May the Lord forgive my Caleb."

Caleb fell asleep and left his mother to die alone. Her death-struggle covered several hours. She raised herself upon her pillow, so that her last glance might rest upon Caleb. His loud snoring was music to her dying ears. She clapped her hands feebly to awaken him, but he snored the more, and mumbled something about chicken. The end came with a little choking in the throat and a slight movement of the head to the left.

As Patsy lay cold in death Caleb had a pleasant dream. He dreamed that she was well and at the washtub. He thought he held in his hand money she had drawn in advance for him. When he awoke the next morning and found it was but a dream he lighted the stump of a cigar; and, between puffs, mumbled something about starch-eating mothers and dignified sons. When a neighbor called to see what Patsy would have for breakfast, he said: "Ask the old woman."

"She is dead," cried the neighbor.

"Then bury her," said he.

The next day Noah, the father of Melviny, the grave-digger for the poor, said: "Melviny, my child, I go to dig poor Patsy's grave."

"Poor Caleb!" said Melviny, and covered her face with her apron.

Noah's hands fell to his side, leaving the spade dangling about his neck.

"Melviny!" he shouted fiercely.

"Father?" she answered soberly.

"Why your thought of Caleb?"

"Why your interest in Patsy?"

"She is dead, child."

"So is Caleb, father." Melviny dropped her apron and began to toy with the spade. "Dear father, you are kind to the neighbors."

"Dear child, you are making your own perdition."

"Where go you, father?"

"I go to bury Patsy in the potter's field."

"I go to bury Caleb in my affections, that he may be resurrected a man."

Noah kissed his daughter three times.

"The first," said he, "is for your mother, who was a wise woman."

"In marrying you, father? I never heard her say so in her curtain lectures. Why didn't you say she was a brave woman?"

"Don't be frivolous, child."

"Cling to facts, father. Remember, you will soon be on the brink of the grave."

"The second is for your innocence," said he, kissing her again. "The third—the third——"

"Is for what, father? Say it's to encourage Caleb in his wooing. Say it, father."

"'Tis my dying kiss—my curse. Go! When he drags you to want and death, you will see how foolish you have been."

"When I lift him to honor and life the world will see how wise and heroic I have been. That extra kiss, father?"

Noah looked puzzled.

"I see it now, father. That's to commend my heroism. You would say so in words, but you are a bit too human at present. Poor Patsy is to be buried in a pauper's grave; poor Caleb in my affections. Your task is noble. No parting word for me? None? I go not alone."

"You go not alone, for the fires of tribulation go with you," said Noah, and shouldered his spade.

As Noah crossed the bridge leading to the potter's field he met Caleb.

"Hello, old graybeard!" This was Caleb's salutation. "I jilted the cobbler's Mary for your Melviny. A mess of perdition she is. You have the honor of burying my mother; I would have the pleasure of marrying your daughter. 'Tis a fair exchange. Speak the word; the magistrate is waiting for his fee. You won't? Your beard is a foot long."

"I go to dig your mother's grave."

"I detain you to pleasure my mother's son."

"She must be buried."

"I must be married."

"Oh! Oh! Oh!"

"Speak the word."

"My beard is being wasted."

"Speak the word, or I'll pull out another handful."

"Y-e-e-s," stammered Noah.

Caleb stroked what beard was left, evened it up with his penknife, and said: "Go! You are adorned for your task."

What Noah felt and thought while digging Patsy's grave would make a serious, instructive volume. A like record of Caleb and Melviny, as they stood before the magistrate, would show the brute in man, the folly in woman. So long as woman is sure she has mastered man, so long is man sure to degrade woman. 'Tis the equation of the fall. The rib that gave woman life ever waits to give her temptation and death.

Caleb had been away from Melviny six months when their child was born.

Fancy a man, dirty, ragged, and lousy, sitting beside a post. Notice the convenience of the post. Look well at the grin that is indicative of a bite; forget not the smile that means one intruder less. Why those dice? He shakes them in his hand, throws them out, and says seven. Any money at stake? No! Any fellow-players? No! See the point? Look closely! When he grins he shakes the dice. Know you what that means? There is a bite. When he smiles he throws out the dice and says seven. Understand that? The post and a movement of his back have done the work, and there is one intruder less. He is actually gambling with the lice on his back.

A fellow-gambler comes up and says: "Caleb, you have an heir in your family. Happy dog you should be."

"Let's celebrate it with a game," says Caleb.

He throws down a ten-dollar bill; the other lays down five silver dollars.

Caleb shakes the dice, grins fiercely, throws them out, smiles a double smile, and says seven twice. This means a double victory. More lice have been killed, and five dollars are won.

"Five more! Will you have it?" asks Caleb.

"I'm a gambling man and never flinch," says the other. He lays down five more silver dollars. Caleb rises and uses the post vigorously. His face is a solid grin. The dice are shaken and leap from his hand. The broad grin relaxes into a little smile that spreads so as to almost hide his nose. His left hand assists the post, while with the right he picks up the silver dollars.

"A gambling man are you?" twits Caleb.

"Yes," nods the other.

"Then a generous man am I," continues Caleb. "Take the ten-dollar bill and remember you have met Caleb."

"Caleb," replies the other, "I am a more generous man than you. Take back the counterfeit bill and keep the silver dollars you have stolen. I will assist you further by inventing a new way of killing lice."

"Lice, sir?" roared Caleb. "Where are they? Do you mean——?"

"I mean a post is a good louse-killer, but a little oil and a match are better."

Caleb, as you know by this time, was a coward. He outran fire-and-oil justice, and was caught in the mesh of circumstances. He leaped over a beehive and alighted between two lines of barbed-wire fence. After spending the night with barbed-wire and bees he was very properly removed to the hospital.

"His legs must be amputated," said the physicians.

"That means what?" asked Caleb, arousing himself as from a dream.

"Death, perchance," said they.

"That means the morgue?" asked he, with a grunt.

"For such as you, yes," replied one.

"My legs, gentlemen, my legs! The morgue! The morgue! I see it. How cold it is! Gentlemen, are you gentlemen? My legs! My legs!"

The next day he learned that his legs had been taken off. The following day he roared about the morgue and fought with both hands. He cried out at intervals:

"Off! Off, you doctors! My legs are here to carry me from the morgue, but you are waiting to cut them off again. Off, you butchers! Come, my right leg! Come, my left! On, my right leg! On my left! Yes! Yes! Welcome, tried friends! Down the steps now! Halfway down are we! Back! Back, you butchers! You shall not! My right foot—you shall not turn around. 'Tis done. The toes are where the heel should be. I go a step forward and fall back a step. Your knives are sharp, you butchers. My right leg is off and hops upstairs. My left leg is off and hops downstairs. My body falls and is carried to the morgue. The morgue, gentlemen, is so cold—so cold!"

After this there were several hours of indistinct raving. The next day his legless body was upon a marble slab in the morgue.

His fellow-gamblers, hearing of his fate, begged his body that they might give it a "decent" burial. They removed it to an old out-house and sat up with it the first night. Why do they gaze upon it so often? Why do their hands touch his face and hands? Would they learn a lesson from the cold, deathly touch? The next night, the next, the next, and the next it is alone.

You searchers of the city's offal, you living buzzards who remove the dead and rotten of your kind, fling open the doors! Is that Caleb you find? 'Tis a part of him. His legs are buried somewhere. His ears and fingers are in the pockets of his fellow-gamblers. Now carry out Caleb minus Caleb. Stop up your nose—stop up your nose!