“If I go at all, it must be in my chair, with Sam to push me,” he said, and that settled it, and his chair was wheeled into its place in the long procession which followed Dotty to the grave. It took some time to get all the carriages into line and ready, and while they were waiting a stranger came rapidly across the street and joined the crowd in front of the Prospect House. He was dusty and travel stained and no one recognized him but Roy and Fanny, who, with Helen, were in the carriage next to Uncle Zach’s chair. “Oh, Roy,—there’s Tom!” Fanny cried, as he passed them without looking up, so intent was he upon the forlorn old man sitting alone with his attendant behind him. “If you please, this is my place,” he said in a low tone to Sam, waving him aside so peremptorily that Sam had nothing to do but submit, which he did willingly, wondering who the stranger was and why he was so anxious for a job he did not fancy. Uncle Zach was rather hard of hearing, and in the confusion of starting did not hear Sam’s instructions, “Go easy over the stones; he’s awful lame.” Tom nodded that he understood, and the funeral cortege started. “Careful, now, Sam. There’s a rut full of stones!” Uncle Zach said once, surprised at the deftness and ease with which the supposed Sam avoided the stones, almost lifting the chair over the worst of them, and showing a thoughtfulness he had never shown before. “It’s because it’s Dotty’s funeral, he’s so keerful,” Uncle Zach thought, resolving to give him something extra when he paid him his next month’s wages. “Get me as close to the grave as you can. I want to see her up to the last minute,” he said, when they were in the cemetery.