ild, whatever it's worth," said Miss
Roxy.

"Then if the Pennels conclude to take him, I may as well give it to
them," said Mrs. Kittridge, laying it back in the drawer.

Miss Roxy folded the cloth back over the face, and the two went out into
the kitchen. The fire had sunk low--the crickets were chirruping
gleefully. Mrs. Kittridge added more wood, and put on the tea-kettle
that their watching might be refreshed by the aid of its talkative and
inspiring beverage. The two solemn, hard-visaged women drew up to each
other by the fire, and insensibly their very voices assumed a tone of
drowsy and confidential mystery.

"If this 'ere poor woman was hopefully pious, and could see what was
goin' on here," said Mrs. Kittridge, "it would seem to be a comfort to
her that her child has fallen into such good hands. It seems a'most a
pity she couldn't know it."

"How do you know she don't?" said Miss Roxy, brusquely.

"Why, you know the hymn," said Mrs. Kittridge, quoting those somewhat
saddusaical lines from the popular psalm-book:--

"'The living know that they must die,
But all the dead forgotten lie--
_Their memory and their senses gone,
Alike unknowing and unknown_.'"

"Well, I don't know 'bout that," said Miss Roxy, flavoring her cup of
tea; "hymn-book ain't Scriptur', and I'm pretty sure that ar ain't true
always;" and she nodded her head as if she could say more if she chose.

Now Miss Roxy's reputation of vast experience in all the facts relating
to those last fateful hours, which are the only certain event in every
human existence, caused her to be regarded as a sort of Delphic oracle
in such matters, and therefore Mrs. Kittridge, not without a share of
the latent superstition to which each human heart must confess at some
hours, drew confidentially near to Miss Roxy, and asked if she had
anything particular on her mind.

"Well, Mis' Kittridge," said Miss Roxy, "I ain't one of the sort as
likes to make a talk of what I've seen, but mebbe if I was, I've seen
some things _as_ remarkable as anybody. I tell you, Mis' Kittridge,
folks don't tend the sick and dyin' bed year in and out, at all hours,
day and night, and not see some remarkable things; that's my opinion."

"Well, Miss Roxy, did you ever see a sperit?"

"I won't say as I have, and I won't say as I haven't," said Miss Roxy;
"only as I have seen some remarkable things."

There was a pause, in which Mrs. Kittridge stirred her tea, lookin