down into the
valley on the far side, the boys racing ahead of us. On a hill-shoulder
below, grave-houses were visible, and people and nags were moving about.

Still farther down the valley, Mrs. Salyer showed me Emmeline's lonely
little home. Emmeline, she said, had died a year and three months
before, during the typhoid that took off Mr. Salyer, leaving a virtuous
and pious memory, seven small children, and a deeply-stricken "widow."

Before we reached the burying-ground, the services began with a
long-drawn funeral song, that came up to us in snatches. Very mournful
and beautiful the tune was, embodying the very spirit of loneliness,
sorrow and resignation. As we drew nearer, Mrs. Salyer joined in the
refrain, and I caught some of the words,

I'm a long time travelling here below,
A long time travelling away from my home.
A long time travelling here below
To lay this body down!

"A long time travelling" indeed it seems to those of us bereft as she
is, and as I am. The inexpressible sweep, dignity and pathos of the song
will haunt me as long as I live.

We joined the crowd among the grave-houses. In front of the newest of
these, saplings had been laid across logs to make seats; and the people
who could not be accommodated here sat on the ground or walked quietly
about. Even the numerous babies were quiet, as if knowing that a funeral
occasion demanded it.

The immediate family sat on the front sapling, facing the preachers, who
occupied a plank against the grave-house. Mrs. Salyer pointed out
Emmeline's bereaved "widow" to me. He sat with drooping head and utterly
dejected attitude, while the row of children with him wept. Just at his
side was a wholesome-faced young woman, surely too old to be Emmeline's
daughter, holding on one arm a child about a year-and-a-half old, and in
the other a very pink new baby.

"Who is that?" I inquired.

Mrs. Salyer whispered back, "That's his new woman, Mary,--of course he
was bound to get him one right off, with all them young ones. She treats
them mighty good, too. The new one's hers,--it come eight days ago, just
in time for the funeral occasion."

When the first preacher started to speak, and Emmeline's virtues began
to be aired, I saw with interest and surprise that Mary wept as
sincerely and heartily as anybody, her tears dropping down impartially
upon the nursing baby and the older one. Once, when her husband seemed
quite overcome, she laid a pityin