"Here's the stable key," interrupted Westerfelt, with a shudder. "Take any horse you want. You'll find saddles and bridles in the shed." Slogan turned away, and Westerfelt walked back to the veranda. "My God!" he groaned; "why don't I _know_ it was accident? If it was not, then may the Lord have mercy on my soul!" He went into his room and threw himself on his bed and stared fixedly at the ceiling, a thousand conflicting thoughts crowding upon him. Presently he heard Slogan talking to the horse in the yard, and went out just as he was mounting. "I wisht you'd hand me a switch, John," he said. "I don't want to be all day goin' an' comin'. I'll be blamed ef I ain't afeerd them two ol' cats 'll be a-fightin' an' scratchin' 'fore I get back. They had a time of it while the gal was alive, an' I reckon thar 'll be no peace at all now." "Does Mrs. Dawson blame anybody--or--or--?" Westerfelt paused as if he hardly knew how to finish. "Oh, I reckon the ol' woman does feel a leetle hard at us--my wife in particular, an'--an' some o' the rest, I reckon. You see, thar was a lot said at the quiltin' yesterday about Lizzie Lithicum a-cuttin' of Sally out, an' one thing or other, an' a mother's calculated to feel bitter about sech talk, especially when her only child is laid out as cold an' stiff as a poker." Again Westerfelt shuddered; his face was ghastly; his mouth was drawn and his lips quivered; there was a desperate, appealing, shifting of his eyes. "I reckon Mrs. Dawson feels hurt at me," he said, tentatively. Slogan hesitated a moment before speaking. "Well," he said, as if he felt some sort of apology should come from him, "maybe she does--a little, John, but the Lord knows you cayn't expect much else at sech a time, an' when she's under sech a strain." "Did she mention any names?" questioned the young man, desperately; and while he waited for Slogan to speak a look of inexpressible agony lay in his eyes. "I never was much of a hand to tote tales," said Slogan, "but I may as well give you a little bit of advice as to how you ort to act with the ol' woman while she is so wrought up. I wouldn't run up agin 'er right now ef I was you. She's tuck a funny sort o' notion that she don't want you at the funeral or the buryin'. She told me three times, as I was startin' off, to tell you not to come to the church nur to the grave. She was clean out o' her senses, an' under ordinary circumstances I'd say not to pay a bit of attention to 'er, but she's so upset she might liter'ly pounce on you like a wild-cat at the meetin'-house." "Tell her, for me, that I shall respect her wish," said Westerfelt. "I shall not be there, Slogan. If she will let you do so, tell her I am sorry her daughter is--dead." "All right, John, I'll do what I can to pacify 'er," promised Peter, as he took the switch Westerfelt handed him and started away. Chapter III