The choir of the little church sang several hymns from books that Jud and Justine had used in days gone by. Heads were bared in the biting air, and no man was there who did not do full honor to Jud Sherrod, the goodliest boy the township had ever produced. The grief of the people was honest. Mr. Marks, inspired by the opportunity, delivered such a discourse on the goodness, the nobility of the young man, that the community, with one voice, proclaimed it to be a masterpiece of oratory. "And to this devoted young wife, for whom he struggled so manfully, so loyally up to the very hour of his taking away, God gives His boundless pity and will extend His divinest help. Dudley Sherrod, our departed brother, was the soul of honor. He loved his home and the mistress of it second only to his Maker. I voice what is known to the world at large when I say that never lived there a man whose heart was more thoroughly given over to the keeping of woman. And she loved and revered him, and we see her inconsolable, bereft of all earthly joy. We pray God that she may see the brightness beyond this cloud that He has in His wisdom thrown about her. And we pray for the life, the soul of this baby boy who lies fatherless in this--er--this cold world. He will never know the love of a father. We all glory in the privilege of having known this true, honest Christian man, a man whose life bore not a single blemish. His life was an example to all mankind. Oh, ye who listen to my words in this sad hour, strive to emulate his example. Do ye as he has done, live the life he has lived. How many of us are there who might have lived as he--er--did--if we but had the courage to follow the impulses of the soul. He has gone to his reward." * * * * * Just before the shades of night fell across the grief-ridden community, Justine escaped the kind ministrations of Mrs. Crane, Mrs. Hardesty, Mrs. Bolton and other good dames who had followed her to the cottage after the chill services in the cemetery for the purpose of comforting her. They had gone to the cottage with red eyes, choking whispers and hands eager to lift her up, and she was trying to avoid these good offices. She crept into the bleak little room upstairs to which Celeste had long since fled to find solitude for her broken heart. Celeste was stretched upon the bed, face downward, and her slim body was as still as Jud's had been. The feeling of dread in Justine's heart was not dispelled until her hands touched the warm cheek, and her ear caught the sound of a faint, tear-choked sigh. "It is I, Celeste," she said, gently. "Won't you let me hold you in my arms? See! I am strong again and I must take some one to my heart. It seems so empty, so dead, so cold. You don't hate me for this day, do you?" Celeste turned her face to the girl above and stretched forth her hand.