It wuz a good face, and the worryment and care that folks told me had been on it for years had all faded away. But the look of determination, and resolve, and bravery,—that wuz ploughed too deep in his face to be smoothed out, even by the mighty hand that had lain on it. The resolved look, the brave look with which he had met the warfare of life, toiled for victory over want, toiled to place his dear and helpless ones in a position of safety,—that look wuz on his face yet, as if the deathless hope and endeavor had gone on into eternity with him. And by the side of him, on a table, wuz the big high flower-pieces, beginnin’ already to wilt and decay. Wall, it’s bein’ such a oncommon bad day, there wuzn’t many to the funeral. But we rode to the meetin’-house in Loontown in a state and splendor that I never expect to ag’in. Abel had hired eleven mournin’-coaches, and the day bein’ so bad, and so few a-turnin’ out to the funeral, that in order to occupy all the coaches, and Abel thought it would look better and more popular to have ’em all occupied, we divided up, and Josiah went in one, alone, and lonesome as a dog, as he said, afterwards to me. And I sot up straight and uncomfortable in another one of ’em, stark alone. Abel had one to himself, and his wife another one, and two old maids, sisters of Abel’ses who always made a point of attendin’ funerals, they each one of ’em had one. S. Annie and her children of course had the first one, and then the minister had one, and one of the trustees in the neighborhood had another: so we lengthened out into quite a crowd, all a-follerin’ the shiny hearse, and the casket all covered with showy plated nails. I thought of it in jest that way, for Harrison, I knew, the real Harrison, wuzn’t there. No, he wuz far away,—as far as the Real is from the Unreal. Wall, we filed into the Loontown meetin’-house in pretty good shape, though Abel hadn’t no black handkerchief, and he looked worried about it. He had shed tears a-tellin’ me about it, what a oversight it wuz, while I wuz a-fixin’ on his mournin’ weed. He took it into his head to have a deeper weed at the last minute, so I fixed it on. He had the weed come up to the top of his hat and lap over. I never see so tall a weed. But it suited Abel; he said “he thought it showed deep respect.” “Wall,” says I, “it is a deep weed, anyway,—the deepest I ever see.” And he said, as I wuz a-sewin’ it on, he a-holdin’ his hat for me, “that Harrison deserved it; he deserved it all.” But, as I say, he shed tears to think that his handkerchief wuzn’t black-bordered. He said “it wuz a fearful oversight; it would probably make talk.” But I says, “Mebby it won’t be noticed.” “Yes, it will,” says he. “It will be noticed.” And says he, “I don’t care about myself, but I am afraid it will reflect onto Harrison. I am afraid they will think it shows a lack of respect for him. For Harrison’s sake I feel cut down about it.”