One woman bent down and whispered into her child's ear as she pointed with one cotton-gloved finger, "See, Johnny, see little Freddie, there; he 'ain't got no mother no more. Pore little Freddie! ain't you sorry fur him?" The child nodded, and gazed with open-eyed wonder at "little Freddie" as if he were of a new species. The curtains, stirred by the blast through the loose windows, flapped dismally, and the people drew their wraps about them, for the fireless room was cold. Steadily, insistently, the hive-like drone of conversation murmured on. "I wonder who 's a-goin' to preach the funeral," asked one. "Oh, Mr. Simpson, of the Methodist Church, of course: she used to go to that church years ago, you know, before she backslid." "That 's jest what I 've allus said about people that falls from grace. You know the last state o' that man is worse than the first." "Ah, that 's true enough." "It 's a-puttin' yore hand to the ploughshare an' then turnin' back." "I wonder what the preacher 'll have to say fur her. It 's a mighty hard case to preach about." "I 'm wonderin' too what he 'll say, an' where he 'll preach her." "Well, it 's hard to tell. You know the Methodists believe that there 's 'salvation to be found between the stirrup an' the ground.'" "It 's a mighty comfortin' doctern, too." "An' then they do say that she left some dyin' testimony; though I 'ain't never heerd tell the straight of it." "He can't preach her into heaven, o' course, after her life. Leastways it don't hardly seem like it would be right an' proper." "Well, I don't think he kin preach her into hell, neither. After a woman has gone through all that pore Margar't has, it seems to me that the Lord ought to give her some consideration, even if men don't." "I do declare, Seely Matthews, with yore free thinkin' an' free speakin', you 're put' nigh a infidel." "No, I ain't no infidel, neither, but I ain't one o' them that sings, 'When all thy mercies, O my God,' and thinks o' the Lord as if He was a great big cruel man." "Well, I don't neither; but--" "'Sh! 'sh!" The woman's declaration of principle was cut short by the entrance of the minister, the Rev. Mr. Simpson. He was a tall, gaunt man, in a coat of rusty black. His hair, of an indeterminate colour, was slightly mixed with grey. A pair of bright grey eyes looked out from underneath bushy eyebrows. His lips were close set. His bony hands were large and ungainly. The Rev. Mr. Simpson had been a carpenter before he was "called." He went immediately to the stand where lay the Bible and hymn-book. He was followed by a man who had entered with him,--a man with soft eyes and a kindly face. He was as tall as the pastor, and slender, but without the other's gauntness. He was evidently a church official of some standing. With strange inappropriateness, the preacher selected and gave out the hymn: Sister, thou wast mild and lovely, Gentle as the summer's breeze.