She waited for him outside, and when he came to her, they started off together. As they walked along, the awkward silence was broken now and then by Chester’s subdued humming. Lizzie appeared to be occupied with some burdening thought. At last they reached the church door. The place was quite crowded and the members were singing lustily. Lizzie recognized the funeral hymn, which caused her some surprise. As they entered, a young woman named Lethe greeted them, and Lizzie asked her: “Who dead, Lethe? I ain’ know dey had any wake to-night.” “One ole lady dey calls Aun’ Milly,” Lethe informed her. “Sis’ Amy Hollan’ Ma. Come fum Peach Awchud, yonder to Bayou Bah-tah-yuh.” “W’en de ole lady died?” Lizzie asked. “Gawd knows, Lizzie,” she went on, “I ain’ never got de straight ’bout de thing. You know, Aun’ Amy bin drunk for mos’ a week, an’ nobody ain’ bin able to git de right news fum ’uh.” “An’ dey bring de ole lady all de way from Peach Awchud hyuh, to sing ove’ ’uh?” Lizzie asked, half-playfully. “Lizzie, don’ ply me wid a whole lot o’ queshtun I ain’ able to answer. All I know, I’m goin’ tell you, if you wan’ lissen.” “Come set hyuh an’ talk ’bout it,” Chester suggested, leading them to a bench in the corner and sitting down. “Now, go ’head.” “Well, you know,” Lethe began again, “me an’ my brether Booguloo took a skiff soon dis mawnin’, an’ went down Harvey Cunnal to see my cousin Dootsy, cookin’ yonder at de camp for dem mens pickin’ moss to Li’l Coquille bayou.” “How much a pound dey gits for black moss, Lethe?” inquired Chester, interrupting her story. “Boy, shet yo’ mouf!” Lizzie commanded sharply. “Lethe ain’ talkin’ ’bout sellin’ no moss. She talkin’ ’bout de ole lady call Aun’ Milly,—layin’ yonder ’ceasded. (Deceased.) Don’t you hyeah ’um singin’ ove’ ’uh? Shet up, an’ lissen.” Seeing Chester offer no argument to Lizzie’s rebuke, Lethe resumed her story. “Well, like I was goin’ say: me an’ Booguloo was helpin’ my cousin Dootsy spread de green moss in de sun to dry on de bushes growin’ on de side de cunnal bank; w’en w’at we seen comin’ roun’ de ben’ up de cunnal, but a skiff cov’ud over wid a muskeeter-bar up on cane reed poles, lookin’ like a natchal bed floatin’ on de water; an’ wavin’ up an’ down,—shinin’ in de sun like a cream-color flag. “Booguloo say: ‘But w’at dis thing is?... Somebody ain’ use’ to muskeeters, an’ gotta ride in big daylight, settin’ up und’ a muskeeter net?... Dis ain’ no cheap people. Dis mus’ be qual’ty folks.’ “I say: Maybe somebody sick, an’ dey bin took ’um to de doctor, yonder to Gritny. You know muskeeter-bite bad for de fever; so maybe da’s w’at make dey put up de muskeeter net. “Bime-by de skiff come a li’l closer, an’ we seen dey had a ole cullud man pullin’; an’ a big fat dark-skin ooman settin’ on de back seat. “I say: Booguloo, ain’ da’s Aun’ Amy Hollan settin’ up in de skiff?