r,
would have let him do such a thing. Of course, I don't know either of
them very well, but, from what little I've heard, I should say they
know as much about what they would be supposed to do as--as you do about
tying a necktie. For mercy sakes let me fix it! The knot is supposed to
be under your chin, not under your ear as if you were going to be hung."

The Judge meekly elevated the chin and his wife pulled the tie into
place.

"And so," she said, "they can say yes or no just as they like."

"Yes, it rests entirely with them."

"And suppose they say no, what will become of the child then?"

"I can't tell you. Captain Hall seemed pretty certain they wouldn't say
no."

"Humph! There! Now you look a little more presentable. Have you got a
clean handkerchief? Well, that's an unexpected miracle; I don't know how
you happened to think of it. When are you going to speak with them about
it?"

"Today, if they come to the funeral, as I suppose they will."

"I shall be in a fidget until I know whether they say yes or no. And
whichever they say I shall keep on fidgeting until I see what happens
after that. Poor little Mary-'Gusta! I wonder what WILL become of her."

The Judge shook his head.

Over the road between South Harniss and Ostable a buggy drawn by an aged
white horse was moving slowly. On the buggy's seat were two men, Captain
Shadrach Gould and Zoeth Hamilton. Captain Gould, big, stout, and
bearded, was driving. Mr. Hamilton, small, thin, smooth-faced and
white-haired, was beside him. Both were obviously dressed in their
Sunday clothes, Captain Shadrach's blue, Mr. Hamilton's black. Each wore
an uncomfortably high collar and the shoes of each had been laboriously
polished. Their faces, utterly unlike in most respects, were very
solemn.

"Ah hum!" sighed Mr. Hamilton.

Captain Shadrach snorted impatiently.

"For the land sakes don't do that again, Zoeth," he protested. "That's
the tenth 'Ah hum' you've cast loose in a mile. I know we're bound to a
funeral but there ain't no need of tollin' the bell all the way. I don't
like it and I don't think Marcellus would neither, if he could hear
you."

"Perhaps he can hear us, Shadrach," suggested his companion, mildly.
"Perhaps he's here with us now; who can tell?"

"Humph! Well, if he is then I KNOW he don't like it. Marcellus never
made any fuss whatever happened, and he wouldn't make any at his own
funeral no more than at anybody else's. That wasn't his