ners, a subdued, red riot of the summer, the sun
without, was overpowering.

As the hour appointed for the funeral approached
a gratifying number of people assembled: the
women clustered about the porch, hovered about the
door which opened upon the remains; while the
men gathered in a group above the stream, lingered
by the fence. A row of dusty, hooded vehicles,
rough-coated, intelligent horses, were hitched above.

The minister took his station by a table on which
a glass of water had been placed upon a vivid red
cover: he portentously cleared his throat. "The
Lord giveth," he began... It was noon, pellucidly
clear, still, hot; the foliage on the mountainsides
was like solid walls of greenery rising to a
canopy, a veil, of azure. Partridges whistled clear
and flutelike from a nearby cover; the stream flashed
in the sun, mirroring on its unwrinkled surface the
stiff, somber figures gathered for the funeral.

The droning voice of the preacher drew out interminably
through the sultry, golden hour.
Women sniffed sharply, dabbled with toil-hardened
hands at their eyes; the men, standing in the grass,
shuffled their feet uneasily. "Let us pray," the
speaker dropped upon his knees, and his voice rose,
grew more insistent, shrill with a touch of hysteria.
From the back of the house a hen clucked in an excited,
aggravated manner.

[[89]]

p088 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p089w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p090

v?