"By-the-way!" said she, suddenly, sitting upright on the lounge, "I won't have the horses from Brown's livery-- "The what, auntie?" "The horses for the cortege. You know Brown puts that magnificent span of his in the hearse on account of their handsome action. I'm sure Mrs. Gaylard would have been frightened to death if she could only have seen the way they pranced at her funeral last fall. I was determined then that they should never draw me;" and Aunt Pen shivered for herself beforehand. "And I can't have them from Timlin's, for the same reason," said she. "All his animals are skittish; and you remember when a pair of them took fright and dashed away from the procession and ran straight to the river, and there'd have been four other funerals if the schooner at the wharf hadn't stopped the runaways. And Timlins has a way, too, of letting white horses follow the hearse with the first mourning-coach, and it's very bad luck, very--an ill omen; a prophecy of Death and the Pale Horse again, you know. And I won't have them from Shust's, either," said Aunt Pen, "for he is simply the greatest extortioner since old Isaac the Jew." "Well, auntie," said Mel, forgetful of her late repentance, "I don't see but you'll have to go with Shank's mare." Even Aunt Pen laughed then. "Don't you really think you are going to lose me, girls?" asked she. "No, auntie," replied Maria. "We all think you are a hypo." "A hypo?" "Not a hypocrite," said Mel, "but a hypochondriac." "I wish I were," sighed Aunt Pen; "I wish I were. I should have some hope of myself then," said the poor inconsistent innocent. "Oh no, no; I feel it only too well; I am going fast. You will all regret your disbelief when I am gone;" and she lay back among her pillows. "That reminds me," she murmured, presently. "About my monument." "Oh, Aunt Pen, do be still," said Mel.