t gentleman, and a
widower himself, so he could feel for her. Miss Peace might be
thankful that she was never called on to bear afflicktion, with no one
but herself to look out for; not but what 'twas lonesome for her, and
Mrs. Means supposed she'd be glad enough to keep Georgie and Joey on
a spell longer for company. Tell them they are poor orphans now, with
no father to earn their bread. The writer wished her husband's remains
to be buried in his father's lot, as she had no money to buy one. Miss
Peace might see if any one felt to put up a moniment for David; he
hadn't an enemy in the world, and he never begredged a dollar when he
had it to give, for anything there was going. If he had thought a
little more about her, and less about everybody's cat and dog, she
might have something now to put bread in her children's mouths, let
alone her own. Not that she had any appetite, a flea wouldn't fatten
on what she ate. Lawyer Peters was his mother's third cousin if she
was living. He spent more on those girls of his than would clothe the
writer and her children for a year.

The remains went by the same boat with this letter, so Miss Peace
would know when to expect them. Mrs. Means looked to her to see that
David had a decent funeral; a handsome one she couldn't expect, folks
in Cyrus were close enough about all that didn't go on their own
backs, though she shouldn't wish it said.

So now there was no more, from Miss Peace's unfortunate friend, "the
Widow Means."

After reading this precious epistle, Jenny Miller found herself,
perhaps for the first time in her life, with nothing to say. She
could only sit and press her friend's hand, and thrill, as a girl
will, at the touch of a sorrow which she only now began dimly to
guess. It was Miss Peace who broke the silence, speaking in her usual
quiet tone.

"Thank you, Jenny, dear! I'm sure it was a privilege, having you come
in just now. David Means was kin to me, you know, and I always set by
him a great deal; and then the poor little children!" she faltered
again for an instant, but steadied her voice and went on: "You'd
better go home now, dear, for the fire is going beautiful, and I don't
need anything. I--I shall have to see to things for the funeral, you
know. And don't forget to thank your mother for the cheese. It looks
real good, and Georgie doos like it the best of anything for
breakfast. I guess I'll get on my bonnet, and go to see Abel Mound,
the sexton."

But