Porgy had heard that Robbins had left no burial insurance, the customary Saturday night festivities having consumed the slender margin between daily wage and immediate need. Now, at sight of the saucer, he knew that rumor had not erred. It had been an old custom among penniless negroes to prepare the corpse thus, then to sing dirges until neighborhood sympathy provided the wherewithal for proper interment. Recent years had introduced the insurance agent and the “buryin’ lodge,” and the old custom had fallen into disuse. It had even become a grievous reproach to have a member of the family a “saucer-buried nigger.” At the foot of the bed, bowed by the double weight of sorrow and disgrace, the widow sat swaying to the rhythm like a beach palm in the ebb and flow of a bleak sea wind. The sight of her grief, the close room, the awful presence beneath the sheet, and the unceasing pulse of sound that beat against his ears, all contributed to stir a strange desire into being within Porgy. Suddenly he threw his head back and wailed long and quaveringly. In rushed a vast feeling of relief. He wailed again, emptied his handful of small coins into the saucer, and sank to the floor at the head of the bed. Presently he commenced to croon with the others, and a sense of exaltation flooded his being, compelling him from the despair of the dirge to a more triumphant measure. “Oh, I gots a little brudder in de new grabe-yahd. What outshine de sun,” he sang. Without missing the beat, the chorus shifted: “An’ I’ll meet um in the primus lan’.” Then came a rude interruption. A short yellow negro bustled into the room. His voice was low, oily, and penetrating. He was dressed entirely in black, and had an air of great importance. The song fell away to scarcely more than a throbbing silence. The man crossed the room to where the widow sat huddled at the foot of the bed, and touched her on the shoulder. She raised a face like a burned out ember. “How de saucer stan’ now, my sister?” he whispered, at the same time casting an appraising glance toward the subject of his inquiry. “Dere ain’t but fifteen dollar,” she replied in a flat, despairing voice. “An’ he gots tuh git buried termorrer,” called an awed voice, “or de boahd ob healt’ will take um, an’ give um tuh de students.” The widow’s scream shrilled wildly. She rose to her knees and clutched the man’s hand between both of hers. “Oh, fuh Gawd’s sake bury um in de grabe-yahd. I goin’ tuh work Monday, and I swear tuh Gawd I goin’ tuh pay yuh ebery cent.” For a second even the rhythm ceased, leaving an aching suspense in the air. Watchers waited tensely. Wide eyes, riveted on the man’s face, pleaded silently. Presently his professional manner slipped from him. “All right, Sister,” he said simply. “Wid de box, an’ one ca’age it will cost me more dan twenty-five. But I’ll see yuh t’rough. Yuh can all be ready at eight tumorruh. It’s a long trip tuh de cemetery.”