Dode, pressing her hands to her ears, heard only the dull drone of their voices. She shut her eyes, sometimes, and tried to fancy that she was dreaming and would waken presently,--that she would hear her father rap on the window with his cowhide, and call, "Supper, Dody dear?"--that it was a dream that Douglas Palmer was gone forever, that she had put him away. Had she been right? God knew; she was not sure. It grew darker; the gray afternoon was wearing away with keen gusts and fitful snow-falls. Dode looked up wearily: a sharp exclamation, rasped out by Aunt Perrine, roused her. "Dead? Dougl's dead?" "Done gone, Mist'. I forgot dat--ter tell yer. Had somefin' else ter tink of." "Down in the gully?" "Saw him lyin' dar as I went ter git Flynn's cart ter--ter bring Mars' Joe, yer know,--home. Gone dead. Like he's dar yit. Snow 'ud kiver him fast, an' de Yankees hedn't much leisure ter hunt up de missin',--yi! yi!"--with an attempt at a chuckle. "Dougl's dead!" said Aunt Perrine. "Well!--in the midst of life--Yer not goin', Jane Browst? What's yer hurry, woman? You've but a step across the road. Stay to-night. Dode an' me'll be glad of yer company. It's better to come to the house of murnin' than the house of feastin', you know." "You may be thankful you've a house to cover you, Ann Perrine, an'"---- "Yes,--I know. I'm resigned. But there's no affliction like death.--Bone, open the gate for Mis' Browst. Them hasps is needin' mendin', as I've often said to Joseph,--um!" The women kissed each other as often as women do whose kisses are--cheap, and Mis' Browst set off down the road. Bone, turning to shut the gate, felt a cold hand on his arm. "Gor-a'mighty! Mist' Dode, what is it?" The figure standing in the snow wrapt in a blue cloak shook as he touched it. Was she, too, struck with death? Her eyes were burning, her face white and clammy. "Where is he, Uncle Bone? where?" The old man understood--all. "Gone dead, darlin'."--holding her hand in his paw, tenderly. "Don't fret, chile! Down in de Tear-coat gully. Dead, chile, dead! Don't yer understan'?" "He is not dead," she said, quietly. "Open the gate," pulling at the broken hasp. "Fur de Lor's sake, Mist' Dode, come in 'n' bathe yer feet 'n' go to bed! Chile, yer crazy!" Common sense, and a flash of something behind to give it effect, spoke out of Dode's brown eyes, just then. "Go into the stable, and bring a horse after me. The cart is broken?" "Yes, 'm. Dat cussed Ben"---- "Bring the horse,--and some brandy, Uncle Bone." "Danged ef yer shall kill yerself! Chile, I tell yer he's dead. I'll call Mist' Perrine." Her eyes were black now, for an instant; then they softened. "He is not dead. Come, Uncle Bone. You're all the help I have, now."