But the burial of Peter Brant was the first consideration. No undertaker was called, for in that small settlement one would not have been supported. The ceremonies of death were few and simple. A rude wooden box was put together, and Peter was placed in it, dressed as he was at the time of his death. There was an itinerant minister who preached in the village once in four weeks, but he was away now, and so there could be no religious ceremony beyond reading a chapter from the New Testament. Joe Marks, who had received a decent education, officiated as reader. Then the interment took place. In the forenoon of the second day Peter's body was laid away, and Ernest was left practically alone in the world. Meanwhile some account must be given of Tom Burns, the tramp. When he found it impossible to obtain whisky with the gold he had stolen, he felt very despondent. His throat was parched, and his craving became intolerable. He felt that he had been decidedly ill-used. What was the use of money unless it could be converted into what his soul desired? But there was no way of changing the coin except at the store of Joe Marks. To ask any of the villagers would only have excited surprise and suspicion. Besides, the tramp felt sure that Ernest would soon discover that he had been robbed. He would naturally be suspected, especially as Joe Marks had knowledge of a gold piece being in his possession. There was a small settlement about five miles off, called Daneboro. It was probably the nearest place where he could get a glass of whisky. He must walk there. It was not a pleasant prospect, for the tramp was lazy and not fond of walking, though he had been compelled to do a good deal of it. Still, it seemed to be a necessity, and when he left the store of Joe Marks he set out for Daneboro. Thirst was not the only trouble with Tom Burns. He had not eaten anything for about twenty-four hours, and his neglected stomach rebelled. He tightened a girdle about his waist, and walked on in great discomfort. He had perhaps gone two miles when he came to a cabin similar in appearance to that of old Peter Brant. A woman stood in the door-way. "My good lady," said Tom, putting on a pitiful expression, "I am a very unfortunate man." "Are you?" said the woman, scanning him critically. "You look like a tramp." "I do, madam, yet I was once a thriving merchant." "You don't look like it." "I don't; I acknowledge it." "How did you lose your property, if you ever had any?" "By signin' notes for my brother. It swept off all my possessions." "Then I pity you. That's the way my man lost five hundred dollars, nearly all he had. What can I do for you?" "Madam, I am hungry, very hungry." "Set right down on the settle, and I'll give you what's left of our breakfast." Tom Burns obeyed with alacrity.