They seemed full of mute questionin'. They seemed to be lookin' up through the blue sky clear up to God's throne. They seemed to almost compel a answer from divine justice as to what wuz the cause of her murder. To appeal dumbly to the God of Justice and Mercy to wipe out this curse from our land--the curse that wuz causin' jest such murders, and jest such agonies, all over our land--sendin' out to the gallows and down to perdition jest such criminals. The little coffin had to be put out in the yard, as I say, so the crowd could walk past it. And there the little golden head and white face lay for 'em all to see. But nobody seemed to see in 'em what I see. For amongst the many curses of the murderer that I heard, not one word did I hear about the man that caused the murder, about the voters and upholders of that man, about the Goverment that wuz in partnership with that man and went shares with him, and for the sake of a few cents had dealt out that agony, that shame, and that criminality. [Illustration: Not one word did I hear about the Goverment that wuz in partnership with that man.] Wall, the little coffin wuz closed at last, the mother wuz carried faintin', and lookin' like a dead woman, back to her empty, darkened home. The father, with a face like white marble, curbin' down his own agonized grief so's to take care of her, and try to bring her back to the world agin, so they could together face its blackness and emptiness. And the crowd dispersed, lookin' forward to the excitement of the hangin'. And the saloon-keeper went home and mebby counted over the few cents that accrued to him out of the hull enterprise. And the wise male voters returned, a-calculatin' (mebby) on votin' for license so's to improve the condition of their towns. And Uncle Sam, poor, childish old creeter, mebby wrote down aginst this hull job--"three cents revenue." And mebby he rattled them cents round in his old pockets. I don't know what he did; I hain't no idee what he won't take it into his old head to do. And the prisoner sot in his dark, cold cell, and didn't appreciate, mebby, the wisdom of the wise law-makers increasin' our revenues by such means. No; he had all he could do to set and look at the bare stun walls, and figger out this sum--on one side the three cents profit; and substract from it--a bright young life ended, lifelong agony to the hearts that loved her. His own old mother's and sister's heads and hearts bowed down in shame and sorrow. His own hopeful life cut short at the edge of the scaffold, and for the future--what? He couldn't quite work that out, for this text kep comin' into his sum--"No drunkard shall inherit eternal life." And then another text kep a-comin' up-- "Cursed is he that putteth the cup to his neighbor's lips."