The funeral of William Hapgood was over. Death had dignified him, and few ventured to speak of him as "Bill," just now. Lucy had wept convulsively in her very long and very black veil, and Tilly and Rufie had sniveled on either side of her, after a last shrill quarrel over which should wear the black jacket, and which the cape with a black ribbon bow, that Joyce had provided.

The whole village had attended the obsequies at the pretty new church, and favorably commented thereon. Mrs. Hemphill thought it a "turrible waste" that they did not have the silver name-plate taken off the casket, however, and declared solemnly:

"Them that buries silver's like to dig fur copper 'fore they die theirselves."

But the women were all deeply impressed with Lucy's genteel mourning costume, and felt an added respect for the little creature in her trailing crÊpe. Marie and Babette were in and out continually, aiding and suggesting, and Rachel had stayed with Lucy every night.

During one of these she and Babette had been asked to "sit up with the corpse," Gus Peters and Dan being chosen to share their vigil. It had taken much urging to induce Dan to feel it his duty, but at last he had given in with a good grace, and appeared with Gus promptly at the appointed hour. With these people a funeral was often the forerunner of a wedding. It was quite the proper thing for those "keeping company" together to sit out the long night hours beside the dead, and too often a keg of liquor was tapped, over which hilarity reigned to a ghastly degree.

There was no danger of that in this case, though. Neither Gus, nor Dan, was of the drinking set, and Lucy had a horror of the stuff, so would not have it in the house. All was decorum over the body of the man who had been ruined by his own appetite.

They sat around the fire the cool fall evenings required, and talked in low tones. Once in a while one or another of the boys would step into the little room off, a minute, then come quietly back to the group. Bill Hapgood had good care that night. But after a time the little group seemed to disintegrate into pairs. Gus and Babette, sitting side by side on the old lounge, dropped their voices to whispers, while Dan and Rachel, somewhat withdrawn from each other, slowly rocked in two old cane chairs. As Dan returned to his seat after one of his short absences with the dead, he flung a glance toward the other couple and remarked, sotto voce.

"Gus is getting lots of cheek since he come to be an architect. There was a time he darsn't look at Bab."

"He always liked her, though."

"Oh, of course. Who don't? She's pretty and good and gay. But she felt above Gus, once."

"Did she? I never thought so."

"He thought so. She would hardly notice him."

"Sometimes," said Rachel slowly, "folks feel offish themselves, and imagine everybody else does. I've heard Freda Wilkes talk about folks slighting her, when she'd go along the street with her head so high they couldn't anybody reach up to her. I'm some that way myself, mother says. But I don't know it till it's over. I get to thinking, and forget what's around me. It seems to me, often, as if there was a lot more things in this world—yes, and people too—than we can see around us. I don't believe in ghosts, either, at least not the scarey kind, but sometimes I seem to get off this earth into something higher and better. It's then I forget folks. But it isn't pride. I never feel how little and ignorant I am as at those times."

Dan rocked on silently and looked at the fire.

He loved to hear Rachel talk. There was a peculiar cadence in her voice, a rich depth, unusual in young women. There was not a shrill nor common strain in it. That "high" look Joyce had noted went with high thoughts, and a voice undertoned by a beautiful soul. Dan felt this without thinking it out in so many words. Another idea began to force its way into his moody brain. Just because Rachel had this unusual quality, this power of looking inward, might she not understand the complexities of his life better than others? He wondered in his tense silence, but did not raise his eyes to see.

His silence finally chilled Rachel, and she, too, began to stare at the fire. The low talk of the other couple ceased and Gus said, explanatorily,

"We were just speaking of Mr. Dalton and Miss Lavillotte. Bab thinks that'll be a match."

"She's good enough for a king," said Babette, "and as pretty and grand as a princess, and he is our king here. Why shouldn't it be all right?"

"She's different from him, though," returned Rachel slowly. "She's been brought up different, Mr. Dalton has made himself a gentleman, but she didn't have to be made. She is a lady born."

"She must have money, too," said Gus. "She's real generous, I hear; and I guess it's true, for I know she has a kind way with her."

"I don't know about her having much money," said Rachel, "but she seems to feel that we all belong to her, somehow, and that she's got to look after us. If the Works, and the whole town, too, was her own she couldn't be more interested."

"She consults lots with Dalton," spoke up Dan. "But they say they're connections of some kind, and he looks after what property she's got."

"Then she has means?" asked Babette.

"Must have considerable," replied Gus. "That old fellow that works for her told me, once, that if she wanted to she could make a big splurge, but she wouldn't do it. He hinted as if she had reasons for being so interested here, but I couldn't pump a thing out of him. I guess he likes to boast pretty well, and he thinks she made the earth, anyhow."

"It's queer," mused Rachel, "that the new boss has never appeared in all these changes and improvements. I should think he'd want to see for himself what's going on. If he cares enough to do so much, he ought to care enough to come and look on."

"But he's in Europe, ain't he?"

"What makes you think so, Dan?"

"I asked Mr. Dalton, once, if he'd be here before we put in the new annealing furnace, just to see what he'd say, and he answered that he thought not. It would be a long time before young Early would reach these shores. So I concluded he was across the water."

"You didn't like Miss Lavillotte at first, did you, Rachel?" asked young Peter.

The girl laughed out, a low laugh in deference to the dead.

"Yes, I liked her so well I tried not to notice her! I expected she'd do something high and mighty to make me mad, so I held myself back. But I found I didn't need to. I was soon ashamed of it. She can't help looking different from others. A china cup isn't to blame for looking finer and whiter than a brown jug. It's made so!"

"Speaking of cups and jugs makes me hungry, somehow," observed Gus, glancing about him.

"Didn't they say something about a lunch for us, Bab?"

"Yes, it's all fixed there in the cupboard. Want me to make you a cup of coffee? You know I can make good coffee, Gus."

Babette could not help being coquettish, even amid solemn surroundings at two o'clock in the morning. As she spoke she glanced sidewise at the young man and tossed back her pretty curling locks from her forehead. In a few minutes the coffee-pot was slowly steaming over the little gas grate, a delicious odor beginning to exude from its spout.

The girls, with quiet movements, drew a small table before the hearth, and set out thereon cold meat, bread, and milk, also the inevitable pie of the Americanized workman. The boys helped them, or pretended to, and even Dan grew sociable under the sense of close companionship and good cheer.

They had finished their impromptu meal, but were still at the table, thoroughly enjoying themselves, half forgetful of the awesome figure in the next room, when out of the weird stillness came a sudden cry, and a dull thud, as of some body falling against a solid obstruction.

Babette clutched at Gus, while Dan's hand involuntarily closed over Rachel's, outstretched in terror. Then, ashamed of the momentary start, he drew it away and rose from his chair.

"Sit still," he said, "till I look into this."

He stepped into the little room, Gus at his heels, but both turned back at once, assured all was right there.

"It's outside," said Dan, in a low voice. "Some drunken man, probably. You stay with the girls, and I'll go out and see."

"Not much," said Gus indignantly. "Guess I'm no more afraid than you are!"

He had no idea of appearing cowardly before the girl of his heart. But she clung to him.

"Oh Gus, I'm scared to death! Don't go."

Dan had already let himself out, bidding Rachel lock the door behind him. She turned now to Babette.

"Come, come, Bab!" she said. "We are not going to be nervous and frighten the children."

She was interrupted by a shriek, long and blood-curdling. The girls clung together, and Gus rushed out after Dan, fearing something terrible had occurred. A frightened cry from upstairs was almost a relief from the strain, and the girls fled back to the stairway door to meet Lucy and the little girls, who were huddled there in a great fright.

"What is it?" they asked in a whispered chorus. "Is pa all right?"

Rachel was the only one calm enough to answer.

"Some drunken fellow, likely. Come out by the fire, girls, or you'll take cold. Dan has gone to see about it."

"And Gus," added Babette jealously, finding her voice to defend her lover.

They all crouched together before the fire, Rachel bringing a shawl to wrap around the scantily clad sisters, and the five enlarged upon the event in all its details, as people do whose range of thought is not wide. The morning twilight was gray in the room when a noise outside caught their attention.

"Dan! I know his step," cried Rachel in a joyous tone, springing to open the door.

Lucy and the children fled to shelter behind the stairway door, and remained there to hear without being seen. Dan stumbled in with an exhausted air, and dropped into a chair.

"Hasn't Gus come?" he asked.

"No, where is he?" cried Babette excitedly. "You didn't leave him alone with the thing, did you?"

Dan smiled.

"The 'thing', as you call it, was poor old Murfree. He got out of bed while the nurse was asleep, and has been wandering around enough to kill a well person. I did not know who I was following for a long time, for sure, but I suspected it was Murfree when I saw he was undressed. He led me an odd chase, I tell you!"

"Oh, tell us all about it!" piped up Tilly from the stairway.

Dan looked towards it, then broke into a laugh, perhaps the first real mirthful sound that had passed his lips since his brother's death. It made Rachel's heart beat faster with joy and surprise.

"All right!" he said. "I will. It don't seem like a sick man could do it, but he did. He struck out for the Works as soon as I got outside and I after him. Didn't you hear him shriek. He was quite a ways ahead, and I let him keep so. Soon as I was sure about him I knew I oughn't to frighten him by waking him too sudden."

"Why, was he asleep?" This from Rufie.

"Sure! But what he did was the queerest. He began dodging in and out around the sheds, and every now and then he'd stoop and seem to be fixing something. Then he'd motion like he was lightin' a match. I kept back and watched him. I knew by this time he was either doing over something he'd done before which had come to him in a dream, or else somebody had hypnotized him. He moved just like a machine. I kept thinking he'd drop, for it seemed as if he must be worn out, but he didn't for a long time."

"But where was Gus all this while?" asked Babette.

"I don't know. I think he went some other way. I didn't see him again till Murfree had led me along opposite of Dodge's cow-shed. As long as the man was making for home I wouldn't disturb him. But right there what I expected happened. He fell in a dead faint. And just then, mighty luckily for me, Gus came up. We couldn't manage him alone, so we called up Jim Dodge out of bed, and he helped us get him into the house. Everybody was out hunting Murfree up, so we had to stay till I could call Dr. Browne by 'phone and we could get him warmed up once more. I left Gus there, to come and tell you, for I knew you'd worry. I guess this night'll finish poor old Tonguey Murfree! Queer, wasn't it?"

He was looking at Rachel, and she answered, thrilling to the naturalness of his look and tone, after these weary months of deepest gloom and silence. The old Dan seemed to have come back to her out of the long, gruesome night. She understood, without explanation, that these adventures had taken him out of himself, that care and thought for others had lifted him above the murk of his own despair. He was as alert, interested, and ready to talk, as ever he used to be. As she plied him with questions she longed in some tangible way to show her quickened sympathy and gladness. She wanted to clasp his hand, to touch his arm, to smile up into his eyes. But she was proud; and then she feared to break the happy spell.

Instead, she set the coffee over, and when it had boiled, brought it to his side.

"I know you're tired and hungry, Dan. I'll fix you up a cup that will make you fresh again. You like just a little milk, I know, but plenty of sugar. And here's the last piece of pie."

Rachel was true to the traditions of her class. She knew the way to a man's heart. Dan ate and drank, feeling that some barrier was down between them. This was not the Rachel of yesterday, who without seeming to repulse him, yet held herself so high and far he dare not believe in her kindness, even. Was it his hand that had swept that barrier away? Yet he had sworn never to do that while the memory of his brother stood between them, for he firmly believed that Rachel had been Will's promised wife.