John Hartman was laid in the grave which had been walled up by the mason who had taken William Koehler's place in Millerstown, and which had been lined with evergreens and life everlasting according to Millerstown's tender custom. Over him prayers were said and another hymn was sung, "Aus tiefer Noth shrei ich zu dir" (Out of the depths I cry to thee), familiar to generations of Millerstown's afflicted. Then the procession returned to John Harman's great house, whispering excitedly. David sat in his room during the funeral dinner. David was queer; he was not expected to do as other people did. His fury with the Koehlers took his thoughts to some extent away from his grief. That night Cassie did not sleep in the great, comfortable room at the front of the house which she had shared with her husband, but in a room even smaller than David's at the back. It contained, instead of the great walnut four-poster, with its high-piled feather bed to which she was accustomed, a little painted pine bedstead and a chaff bag; it was on the north corner of the house and was cold in winter and deprived of the breeze by the thick foliage in summer. Her husband's fortune was left to her while she lived; afterwards it was to go to David. Cassie was amply able to manage it, the investments were safe, the farmers had been in her husband's employ many years; it was not likely that anything would disturb the smooth, dull current of Cassie's life. There was much discussion in Millerstown about whether it was safe for the community to allow William Koehler to be at large; there was some comment upon the cooking at the Hartman funeral dinner; then Millerstown turned its attention to other things. Cassie had behaved just as she might have been expected to behave. It was surprising, however, that she had let Millerstown go so thoroughly through her house. The day after the funeral David went back to the Millerstown school. He did not glance in the direction of Katy and Alvin, though he could not help realizing that Katy's skirts did not flirt so gayly past. Katy was sorry for him, though she did not repent her treatment of him. Her dresses had suddenly dropped several inches, her flying curls were twisted up on her head, her eyes were brighter than ever. She was filled with herself and her own concerns and opinions; she grew daily more dictatorial, more lordly. "I am going away!" said she, upon rising. "I am going to be educated!" said she at noon. "I can take education," said she at night. "I thank God I am not dumb!" She and Grandmother Gaumer were increasingly busy with dressmakers' patterns and with "Lists of Articles to be provided by Students." Life was at high tide for Katy Gaumer.