He was sure of that without Jake's repeated assertion, "Fo' God, it's all right, for she tole me so. Mostly, she'd say nothin'. She'd promised she wouldn't, but jess fo' she died she said agen to me, 'I tole him I'd keep dark till he come for me, but it's all right. Send for Elder Covil 'crost the river. He knows.' I've tole you this afore, I reckon, but my mind is so full I git rattled." By this time the bent figure sitting in the rocking-chair, near the coffin began to show signs of life and whimper a little. "'Scuse me," Jake said, pulling a shawl more squarely around her shoulders and straightening her up. "Mas'r Mason, this is ole Miss Lucy. Miss Lucy, this is Mas'r Mason, come to 'tend Miss Dory's funeral. Peart up a little, can't you, and speak to him." There didn't seem to be much "peart up" in the woman, who began at once to cry. Instantly Mandy Ann started up and wiped her face, and settled her cap, and taking the trumpet screamed into it that she was to behave herself and speak to the gemman. "Dory's dead," she moaned, and subsided into her shawl and cap, with a faint kind of cry. "Dory's dead," was repeated, in a voice very different from that of the old woman--a child's clear, sweet voice--and turning, Mr. Mason saw a little dark-haired, dark-eyed girl standing by Mandy Ann. Mr. Mason was fond of children, and stooping down he kissed the child, who drew back and hid behind Jake. "Me 'fraid," she said, covering her face with her hands, and looking with her bright eyes through her fingers at the stranger.