Miss Angie's undertaker was all that she could have wished--a deep-eyed young man, with his carefully brushed hair parted to the extreme left and swept sidewise across his head; and his hand inserted like a Napoleon's between the second and third buttons of his long, black broadcloth coat. "Good morning, Miss Prokes! It's a sad day, ain't it?" Tears trembled along her lids. "Yes, sir, Mr. Lux; it's a sad day." "A sad, sad day," he repeated, stepping farther into the room, with his two attendants at a respectful distance behind him. There were no rites. Tillie mumbled a few lines to herself out of a little Bible with several faded-ribbon bookmarks dangling from between the pages. "This was poor Angie's book. I'll keep it for remembrance." "Poor Angie!" said Mame. "'In the midst of life we are in death,'" said Mr. Lux. "If you're all ready now we can start, Miss Prokes. Don't be scared, little missy." There was a moment of lead-heavy silence; then the two attendants stepped forward, and Tillie buried her face and ears on Mame's sympathetic shoulder. And so Angie's little procession followed her. "I'm all for going along, Mr. Lux; but Tillie's that bent on my going back to the store for the half-day. I--I hate to let her go out there alone and all." "I'm going out in the carriage myself, missy. There ain't a thing a soul could do for the little girl. I'll see that she ain't wantin' for nothin'--a Lux funeral leaves no stone unturned." "You--you been awful good to me, Mame! I'll be back at the store Monday." "Good-by, honey! Here, let me hold the umbrella while you get in the carriage. Gawd! ain't this a day, though? I'll go back up-stairs and straighten up a bit before I go to the store. Good-by, honey! Just don't you worry." A few rain-beaten passersby huddled in the doorway to watch the procession off. Heads leaned farther from their windows. Within the hearse the Dove of Peace titillated on its white-carnation pillow as they moved off. Tillie sank back against a soft corner of the carriage's black rep upholstery, which was punctured ever so often with deep-sunk buttons. There was a wide strap dangling beside the window for an arm-rest, and a strip of looking-glass between the front windows. "I hope you are comfortable, little missy. If I say it myself, our carriages are comfortable--that's one thing about a Lux funeral. There ain't a trust concern in the business can show finer springs or better tufting. But it's a easy matter to take cold in this damp. I've seen 'em healthy as a herring go off just like that!" said Mr. Lux, snapping his fingers to emphasize the precipitousness of sudden death. "I ain't much of a one to take cold--neither was poor Angie. There wasn't a girl in the corsets had a better constitution than poor Angie. She always ailed a lot with her heart; but we never thought much of it." "I thought she was your sister; but they say she was just your friend." "Yes; but she was all I had--all I had."