“Well, to go on. I went down to Swinton's new mill, whar he was sawin' out pine planks, an' set around all mornin', an' whenever I seed a solid heart-plank run out, I'd nab it an' lay it aside. Then, when I'd got enough to make me a good, roomy box, I axed 'im what the pile was wuth an' got the lot at a bargain, beca'se times was dull an' I was on the spot. Well, I hauled the planks home on my wagon an' unloaded at the barn. The women, all three, come out like a lot o' hens peckin' around an' begun to ax questions. They 'lowed I was goin' to make some shelves fer the smoke-house, to lay hams an' shoulders on, an' they was powerful tickled. I didn't let 'em know right then. But the next day when Jim Long come with his hammer an' nails an' saw an' plane, an' stood me up agin the wall in the woodshed, an' started to measure me up an' down an' sideways, they begun to scream an' take on at a desperate rate. It was the fust time I ever heard mournin' at my own funeral, an' it sorter upset me; but I told Jim to go ahead, an' he did start, but, la me! The whole lay-out run to 'im an' got around 'im an' threatened, an' went on at sech a rate that he throwed up the job an' went home. I got mad an' went off fishin', an' when I come back I found all o' them fine, new planks split up into kindlin' fer the stove, an' it wasn't a week 'fore my burial outfit was turned into ashes. I kin see now that when my time comes my folks will rake an' scrape to git up money to put me in a box so thin that a dead man could kick a hole in it.” “They have their way of looking at such matters,” the preacher ventured, awkwardly. “Death is a serious thing, brother Porter, and it affects most people deeply.” “It hain't so serious on a cash basis as it is on a credit,” Nathan declared. “But thar Cynthia comes now.” “I'm an early bird, Miss Cynthia.” Hillhouse was actually flushed. “That is, I don't mean to hint that you are a worm, you know; but the truth is, I was afraid if I didn't come quick some hawk of a fellow would bear you away to bush-arbor meeting next Sunday afternoon. Will you let me take you?” Cynthia's face clouded over. “I'm very sorry,” she said, “but I have already promised some one else.” “Oh, is that so?” Hillhouse could not disguise his disappointment. “Are you going with--with--” “Mr. Floyd asked me,” the girl answered, “and I told him I'd go. I'm very sorry to disappoint you.” “Why, Cynthia”--Mrs. Porter had approached and stood in the door-way, staring perplexedly at her daughter--“you told me last night just before you went to bed that you had no engagement for Sunday. Have you had a note already this morning?” Cynthia, in some confusion, avoided her mother's sharp, probing look. “It doesn't matter,” she said, lamely. “I've promised to go with Mr. Floyd, and that is sufficient.”