their shoulders and
across the breasts, assembled about the Siner cabin. In the dusty
curving street were ranged half a dozen battered vehicles,--a hearse, a
delivery wagon, some rickety buggies, and a hack. Presently the
undertaker arrived with a dilapidated black hearse which he used
especially for negroes. He jumped down, got out his straps and coffin
stands, directed some negro men to bring in the coffin, then hurried
into the cabin with his air of brisk precision.

He placed the coffin on the stands near the bed; then a number of men
slipped the huge black body into it. The undertaker settled old
Caroline's head against the cotton pillows, running his hand down beside
her cheek and tipping her face just so. Then he put on the cover, which
left a little oval opening just above her dead face. The sight of old
Caroline's face seen through the little oval pane moved some of the
women to renewed sobs. Eight black men took up the coffin and carried it
out with the slow, wide-legged steps of roustabouts. Parson Ranson, in a
rusty Prince Albert coat, took Peter's arm and led him to the first
vehicle after the hearse. It was a delivery wagon, but it was the best
vehicle in the procession.

As Peter followed the coffin out, he saw the Knights and Ladies of Tabor
lined up in marching order behind the van. The men held their spears and
swords at attention; the women carried flowers. Behind the marchers came
other old vehicles, a sorry procession.

At fifteen minutes to ten the bell in the steeple of the colored church
tolled a single stroke. The sound quivered through the sunshine over
Niggertown. At its signal the poor procession moved away through the
dust. At intervals the bell tolled after the vanishing train.

As the negroes passed through the white town the merchants, lolling in
their doors, asked passers-by what negro had died. The idlers under the
mulberry in front of the livery-stable nodded at the old negro preacher
in his long greenish-black coat, and Dawson Bobbs remarked:

"Well, old Parson Ranson's going to tell 'em about it to-day," and he
shifted his toothpick with a certain effect of humor.

Old Mr. Tomwit asked if his companions had ever heard how Newt Bodler, a
wit famous in Wayne County, once broke up a negro funeral with a
hornets' nest. The idlers nodded a smiling affirmative as they watched
the cortege go past. They had all heard it. But Mr. Tomwit would not be
denied. He sallied forth into humorou