Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-08-03

80 she does when I'm alive" replied
Mark, approaching the grim humor, but
you see, Abe, she never saw me dead; and
then besides it amt woman's work nohOw
specially f she's as good as Bess."
The weather grew thick and humid that
night. The sun went down in q bank of
sullen clouds and the parched leaves OF the
trees hung motionless. Marks asthma
clutehed him with a merciless grip and
straugled him SO that wondering neighbors
clung clumsily about the fence and listened
to the distressing respirations of the sufferer.
Bess, Abe and the doctor were at the bed
side, but not one of them could do anything
to loosen the fingers of death. Slowly but
steadily the unseen hand closed about the
throat with fercer tension until the breath
of lite was squeezed from the strange old
man.
1t was a very plain funeral at Marks
weather-beaten house. The village
preacher prayed sonorously and disjoInt-
edly, and the mourners, with the exception
of Bess, Abe and the undertaken, sang
Rock of ages" Mark looked so natural
in his coffin that some of the villagers, who
always said such things on such occasions,
declared that he looked as though he had
Just fallen into a pleasant sleep. The
preacher prayed agaln-this time at greater
length than beforehand then the mourners
left the room while the undertaken pre-
pared the coffin for burial. Abe remained
with him and when the door was closed two
pairs of arms rolled the body upon its face.
1t was all done in a moment. Then the
glistening lid was hurriedly screwed
down and the pall-bearers were
summoned to carry the box to the
hearse which stood in the lane.
There was no ceremony at the graveyard,
oh, ~ hat 1F
with blooming weeds and vines. The village
preacher wanted to pray again, but Abe
stopped him in an irreverent but decorous
way, and thereafter nothing disturbed the
silence but the sobs of poor grief-stricken
Bess and the droning of the bees as they
scurried from flower to flower.
Marks death and funeral were town talk
for a week or more, and then Lige Hector's
saw-mill burned and set the people to talk
ing about incendiaries, new fire engines and
the like. Nobody paid much attention to
Bess who seemed content to spend her
widowhood in the little weather-beaten cot
tage. She always looked trim and neat, but
her face had so much sadness in it
that the neighbors when they saw her
shook their heads owlishly and said the
grief was slowly dragging her to death. She
was often seen In the graveyard, staring
wildly at the weed-elad mound which
marked the resting place of Mark. She
would come there late in the afternoon and
remain there until the stars came out and
the frogs croaked from the pond. It was
evident that Bess was madly agitated about
something, and finally it became known
that the poor woman was suffering from the
fearful conviction that her husband had
been buried alive. She recalled how, when
Mark was lying in the coffin, his cheeks
glowed just below the eyes, and she was now
certain that she had seen him move even
after the grave clothes had been put on him.
Then, TOO, she had seen Marks face at her
window one night when a storm was beat
ing furiously upon the cottage.
These rights. suspicious and convictions
were too much Tor such frail body to stand.
At last she could bear the burden no longer,
and, with face white and rigid with de-
termination and voice almost hysterical
In its infections, she demanded that the
neighbors open the grave and the coffin, and
thus forever satisfy her that Marks death
was not the result Of accident or malice.
Abe would have given his hop farm and all
he owned to have stopped this distressing