Jepson hesitated; he started slowly along the path amongst the luxuriant grass and weeds, where a coterie of turkeys and ducks were pecking about; then he turned back, and stood leaning with one arm upon the gate-post, his hat drawn down over a moody, anxious brow, now looking meditatively at the little house, as silent and as solemn as the vast dark mountain behind it, and again vaguely glancing toward the forge, where he could see the gossips clustering around the door, the huddled horses at the rack, the slow ruminative oxen unyoked and lying about in the clearing, and here and there a cumbrous white-covered wagon. Above were the great cliffs, beginning to show a sunset glow; and now and then might be discerned in the forest the pathway of the invisible wind in the fainter tints of the reverse side of the leaves, upturned under even this light step, and marking a narrow line amongst the dense and dark foliage, as it stole down the slopes. Suddenly, men silent and with grave faces came out of the house. His heart gave a great throb—their faces were so like those that men bore at the little rural funerals that had hitherto formed, in his experience, the chief expression of the majesty of death, and the more terrible irrevocability of opportunity,—their manner so like the cumbrous, awkward show of respect and sympathy for the mourners. It seemed strange to him that he should note at that moment—so vagrant are our thoughts, so little held in leash by the will—how still the mountain stood, how fairly the sun shone, how freshly blew the wind, unmindful, unmindful! The soul is the alien on the earth, and the earth heeds not the in-coming of this strange essence, nor the out-going. A strong trembling fell upon every fibre. He looked suddenly gaunt as he strained forward, whispering with pale lips, “Dead? Dead?” Their eyes with one accord rested upon him. Clem Sanders slowly shook his head; then turned to Bassett, as if doubtful nevertheless, and desiring confirmation. Once more Jepson’s dry lips framed the word “Dead?” but no sound came. “Naw,” said Bassett, “not ez ye mought say dead—but”—He paused, and shook his head. “Naw, he ain’t dead,” said Dake hastily; “he may be like ter die, fur all I know. He be out’n his head, an’ yit he ain’t out’n his head. I never hear sech talk.” Then speaking to Bassett he added, “Ye mought tell Teck a leetle quicker, knowin’ ez he hev got ter answer fur it.”