The daily morning journal and courier. [volume] (New Haven, Conn.) 1894-1907, 1895-06-03
q don't see what good tfex,d be-

Another woman erept in silently, G
shawl huddled about her head.
Il just heard" she whispered.
They waited in silence for her to &C
on. She was the woman of the village
who always offlciated at the laying
out" of the dead. The reason for this
no one had ever sought. Possibly the
right was hers because she so enjoyed
the grewsome privilege. At least she
chung to it tenaciously.
Now, Miss 'Lisbeth you just go up
stairs and I'll tend to things" she said,
while the other women waited her com
n-ands, half resenting her cool assump-
ton of control. but with full con-
seriousness of her capability in tend
ing" to such things"
The bare little church, with its white
walls and staring windows; its stiff
pine pulpit painted a dingy yellow, with
the minister's green upholstered chair
behind it, was we'll filled the day of the
funeral. A "burying' was not thing
to miss without grave cause. There
were old men and old women in the
congregation who had not missed a
| funeral within ten miles of them for
fifty years. They sat solemnly waiting
for the minister to begin the service,
taking close notice of the coffin and cal
culating it's cost. Not difficult prob
lem for them with their long expert
ence. They also noticed the appear
ance Of one mourner who sat directly
| in front of ,the pulpit alone, save for
the presence in her pew Of the woman
who had come to her huddled under q
shawl. This strange woman always
sat with the mourners as though she
felt a claim upon the bodies of the dead
until their final surrender to mother
earth. But the dead mans daughter
sat away from her companion, quite at
the farthest end of the seat, as if she
would be as much apart from them all
in her present loneliness as she had
been before. 1t was fifteen years since
she had sat with them in the church,
and they looked at her now with curios-
ity. A slight little woman, with tired
eyes and dull brown hair streaked with
gray.
The minister arose and folded upon
the open Bible his lean hands with their
great veins and yellow joints. He
prayed long and laboriously, his voice
rising from a dole sing-song drawl into
a shout and then sinking into whis-
per. They wagged their heads know
ingly in the pews and whispered to
one another that it was a ''pow'ful eff
fort" Toward the close of the prayer
many eyes were turned expectantly tow
ard the woman who sat alone. The
minister was calling loudly for "the
lost sheep who is not with us safe in the
shelta' of Zion walls. oh, Lord! he
walled, make Yo'h wah'nin' plain to
her onseein' eyes that she may seek
safety from the wrath to come" If
the woman heard or understood his
words no acknowledgment to that fact
touched her thin face.
She sat with folded hands, her eyes
upon the narrow front of the box-like
pulpit. Then the minister began his
sermon. From the earliest dawn Of
the dead mans life, through his child
hood, youth and manhood unto the last
moment Of his old age, the speaker
journeyed going unctuously over the
dreary details of the meager. common
history. They all knew 1t well enough,
but they listened greedily, jealousy
fearful that the speaker might over
lcok a single incident in the mans dull
story. When he had exhausted every
period of his subjects life, the minister
began the apotheosis of the man. His
his charity, his uprightness
and above all his tireiess labors in the
vineyard of the Lord9 were dwelt upon.
He had in truth been cruel and hard
and mean.
They all knew this, but he had lived
and died a member in good standing,
and any other treatment of his charac-
ter by the preacher would have been a |
thing, unheard of and not |
to be forgiven. At the close of his |
the minister turned his color |
less eyes upon the woman who sat |
apart. "There was" he said, his voice |
falling into a slow and solemn drawl, |
there was one cross which our Lord |
and Master seen fit to bind upon the |
shoulders of the brother who has just |
gone befo' us into the glory of the |
heavenly kingdum. A cross hard to |
bear, a cross whose liftin' he had wres-
tied for with the Lord Jesus often and |
nightly in prayer, but which Divine |
seen fit to allow to remain
upon the shoulders of his faithful son.
"It was, my brothers aud sisters, the |
of the only one of his kin to ac-
cept the Lord, to wash herself in the
blood of the Lamb, to join with those
who journey onward safe in the arms
Of Jesus into the glory of everlastin'
life" His voice had risen into shout,
The night is comm, the day is almost
done. Oh! let US pray for them who
falters and will not turn from the
wrath befo'h it is too late" His voice
sank suddenly into a whisper, and the
words "too late" went Kissing out over
the heads of the people who sat with
,raning necks and knowing faces cruel
" turned toward the woman, whose
ayes for a single instant had not left
he front of the dingy yellow pulpit.
The hearse, with the one closed car
'iage of which the village boosted,
moved slowly away from the church
along the muddy road, followed by
line of wagons. The major
ty of the people fingered about the
,hurch door watching the woman who
sat stifIly erect in the carriage, the min
ster facing her. at her side the woman
Who seemed to have such a strange love
or the dead. This woman sat with her
pressed to her eyes, as If
The must needs make amends for the