As though to match the changed gait of the undertaker's horses, the spirits of these old men were uplifted into a sort of tempered cheerfulness. So often it is that way after the mourners come away from the grave. All that kindly hands might do for him who was departed out of this life had been done. The spade had shaped up and smoothed down the clods which covered him; the flowers had been piled upon the sexton's mounded handiwork until the raw brown earth was almost hidden. Probably already the hot morning sun was wilting the blossoms. By to-morrow morning the petals would be falling--a drifting testimony to the mortality of all living things. On the way out these four had said mighty little to one another, but in their present mood they spoke freely of their departed comrade--his sayings, his looks, little ways that he had, stories of his early life before he took holy orders, when he rode hard and fought hard, and very possibly swore hard, as a trooper in Morgan's cavalry. “It was a fine grand big turnout they gave him this day,” said Mr. Galloway with a tincture of melancholy pride in his voice. “Almost as many Protestants as Catholics there.” “Herman Felsburg sent the biggest floral design there was,” said Doctor Lake. “I saw his name on the card.” “That's the way Father Tom would have liked it to be, I reckin,” said Judge Priest from his corner of the carriage. “After all, boys, the best test of a man ain't so much the amount of cash he's left in the bank, but how many'll turn out to pay him their respects when they put him away.” “Still, at that,” said the sergeant, “I taken notice of several absentees--from the Camp, I mean. I didn't see Jake Smedley nowheres around at the church, or at the graveyard neither.” “Jake's got right porely,” explained Judge Priest. “He's been lookin' kind of ga'nted anyhow, lately. I'm feared Jake is beginnin' to break.” “Oh, I reckin tain't ez bad ez all that,” said the sergeant. “You'll see Jake comin' round all right ez soon ez the weather turns off cool ag'in. Us old boys may be gittin' along in years, but we're a purty husky crew yit. It's a powerful hard job to kill one of us off. I'm sixty-seven myself, but most of the time I feel ez peart and skittish ez a colt.” He spoke for the moment vaingloriously; then his tone altered: “I'm luckier, though, than some--in the matter of general health. Take Abner Tilghman now, for instance. Sence he had that second stroke Abner jest kin make out to crawl about. He wasn't there to-day with us neither.”