“We ain’t decided nothin’!” broke in one of the jurors, a serious, almost grim-faced farmer, with a bushy collar of gray whiskers framing his brown square jaw. “How kin we decide till we’ve heerd some evidence, ’n’ before the ink-west is threw with?” “There’s some men’d kick if they was goin’ to be hung. Did I _say_ we’d arrived at a verdict? What I mean is we’ve agreed to adjourn the ink-west now till arter the funeral.” “Well, why daon’t yeh say what yeh mean, then?” rejoined the objecting juror. “They can’t no cor’ner make up my verdict fur me, ’n’ you’ll fine it aout, tew.” “The more fool me fur panelin’ yeh!” was the Coroner’s comment. The brothers insensibly edged away from this painful altercation. A little elderly man, in shabby broadcloth which seemed strangely out of place among the rough tweeds and homespuns of the farmers, detached himself from the group of jurors, and came over to them, with a subdued halfsmile of recognition. It was the Thessaly undertaker. “Tew bad, ain’t it?” he said glibly, “allus some such scrimmage as thet, on every one of Timms’ juries. He ain’t got no exec’tive ability, _I_ say. I’d like to see _him_ run a funer’l with eight bearers--all green han’s! I told him thet once, right to his face! But then of course yeh knaow _I_ can’t say much. He’s techy, ’n’ ’twouldn’t do fur me to rile him. We hev a kind o’ ’rangement, you see. I hev to be on hand any-way, ’n’ he allus puts me on the jury; it helps him ’n’ it helps me. I kin always sort o’ smooth over things, if any o’ th’ jurors feels cranky, yeh knaow. They’ll listen to me, cuz they reelize I’ve hed experience, ’n’ then there’s a good deal in knaowin’ haow to manage men, in hevin’ what _I_ call exec’tive ability. Of course, this case is peculiar. They ain’t no question abaout th’ death bein’ accidental. But this man you heerd kickin’, this Cyrus Ballou, he’s makin’ a dead set to hev’ Zeke Tallman condemned fur hevin’ his fence up there in bad repair. He ’n’ Tallman’s a lawin’ of it abaout some o’ his steers thet got into Tallman’s cabbages, ’n’ thet’s why-----” “I suppose we can leave this to you!” John broke in, impatience mastering the solemnity of the scene. “Have you made any arrangements? You know what ought to be done.” “Yes, my boy ought to be here by this time with my covered wagon, what I call my ambulance.” The brothers turned away from him. The little man remembered something and hurrying after them laid his hand on John’s arm. “When I spoke abaout allus bein’ on the jury, you knaow, p’raps I ought to’ve explained.” He proceeded with an uneasy, deprecating gesture. “You see, a juror gits a dollar a day, ’n’ sometimes friends of the remains think I ought to deduck thet f’m my bill, but ef you’ll jest consider----” “Oh for God’s sake! leave us alone!” It was Seth who spoke, and the undertaker joined his fellow-jurors at the foot of the hill forthwith. The brothers went back, and stood again in oppressed silence over the blanketed form.