seems sometimes, when one
reflects how unevenly the joys and sorrows, and luxuries and misery are
distributed among brothers and sisters, neighbors and countrymen.

CHAPTER XXIX.

TOM FLANNERY'S FUNERAL.

The grief of the broken hearted mother and the two faithful friends can
better be imagined than described. Words, however ably chosen, fail
utterly to picture the sufferings of the human heart. In imagination
we can see the three bending over the still form of him to whose heart
each was attached so firmly. One, a well aged woman, still clinging
passionately to the cold hands and moaning with almost frantic grief.
Now she presses the lifeless figure to her breast, appealing wildly to
it to speak to her, to call her "mother" just once more. Again she falls
upon her knees and prays as only one prays with bursting heart, that her
boy, her Tom, her only child, her very life, may be restored to her.
With her tears are mingled those of Herbert and Bob, whose young spirits
overflow with sorrow, not alone for their own loss at the hands of death
but at the wild, tumultuous grief of the bereaved mother.

A little later we see the undertaker arrive with all his dread
paraphernalia, then the casket, a plain, neat one purchased by Herbert
and Bob, in due time receives the dead body.

The funeral follows speedily, and is held in Mrs. Flannery's rooms.
In one of them she lies in bed helplessly ill from grief and utter
prostration. All preparations for the burial have been made by Herbert
and Bob. The minister arrives, and after a hurried talk with Herbert
devotes himself to Mrs. Flannery, trying to lessen her sorrow by such
words of consolation and assurance as his calling enables him to speak
with something like holy authority.

A tall, fine looking man with a young, sweet faced girl now knocks at
the door. They are Mr. Goldwin and his daughter, and the latter brings a
cross of flowers for a burial offering. How strangely out of place they
seem in these small, barely furnished attic rooms, yet they have come
with honest purpose to pay honor to the humble dead. Mr. Goldwin had
known of Tom's brave part in rescuing Herbert from the villains by whom
he had been imprisoned. He had at that time sent him a reward, and now
he came sorrowfully to mingle his tears with those of the lowly friends
of the dead. Ray had begged to come with him, and he was glad to grant
her the request, for he felt that she would receive a lesson f