shame
when anybody asked us a Bible question. Now, you take my Bible yonder
on the table, and find the second book of Samuel. I can't be expected
to ricollect exactly the chapter or the verse, but you look around in
that book till you see Rizpah's name and then read what it says."

I made a hasty search for the passage and presently found it:

"But the King took the two sons of Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, whom
she bare unto Saul, Armoni and Mephibosheth; and the five sons of
Michal the daughter of Saul, whom she brought up for Adriel the son of
Barzillai the Meholathite; and he delivered them into the hands of the
Gibeonites, and they hanged them in the hill before the Lord: and they
fell all seven together, and were put to death in the days of harvest,
in the first days, in the beginning of barley harvest.

"And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth, and spread it for
her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until the water
dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the
air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night."

"There!" said Aunt Jane, "that's Rizpah. Now try to remember that
story, child. You couldn't help rememberin' it if you'd ever seen the
picture. It was an awful thing to look at, but somehow if you looked
at it once you couldn't help goin' back to it again. There was the sky
and the light breakin' through the clouds. I never could tell whether
it was right after sundown or jest before sunrise--and the dead
bodies hangin' from the limbs o' the trees, stiff and straight, and
Rizpah fightin' off the vultures with a club, her long black hair
streamin' down her back and her eyes blazin' like coals of fire. The
minute I looked at that picture, I says to myself, 'That's Mother.'
Many a night she'd dream of seein' the bodies of her sons lyin' on the
battle-field and the birds pickin' the flesh from their bones, and
she'd wake up cryin' and wring her hands and say, 'If I could only
know that their bodies was buried safe in the ground, I could stand it
better.' But we never did know, and--it's a curious thing, honey--when
you don't see the dead buried you never can be right sure that they
ain't alive yet somewhere or other on this earth.

"The footsteps never come again, but all her life Mother listened for
'em, and I hope and trust that when she got to the other side, the
first thing she heard was the steps of her boys comin' towards her
jest like th