r in
his arms, sayin' no more. I bustled 'round--speakin' nothing, an' as
quiet as possible, knowin' how tired in mind an' body the poor man
was--an' fixed up a nice supper. When the table was all set, an' the
food on it, an' everything as cheerful an' encouragin' as the hoppers
would let me make it, I called Micah. But he didn't answer; so I
stepped across the room an' put my hand on his face, so as to wake him
gently, as I was used to doin'.

Oh, dear! Oh, dear! The loved face was cold and white, an' I give one
scream an' fell beside him, knowin' nothin'. Yes, Micah was
dead--gone to sleep never to waken, passed from life with little
Hannah snuggled in his arms.

No wonder I cry when I remember that lonesome night, holdin' the
little one in my arms an' watchin' the still face on the bed, knowin'
that nevermore those eyes would look into mine, nevermore those cold
lips would speak to me. An' when the mornin' came, gray an' hopeless,
there was no one but me an' the baby an' poor Micah's body; an' the
hoppers a-creepin' an' a-crawlin' all through the house as if they
were a-buyin' of it at auction, a-rustlin' their wings an' a-hustlin'
their bodies until I thought theie was a cool wind instead of a hot,
breathless mornin'. I covered up the dear face, an', kneelin' by his
side, prayed an' cried, an' cried an' prayed. It was all I could do
for my husband of three years. I don't know what else I did, what else
I thought. I saw nothin', heard nothin', until somebody's hand fell
upon my shoulder.

"Why, Mrs. Pyncheon!" was the cry, an' lookin' up through my tears I
saw neighbor King a-standin' by me. "I was goin' up the road," he
said, "an' thought I'd stop an' say good-mornin'. Where's Micah? In
the field, an' you a-cryin' for lonesomeness?"

I answered nothin'; but put up my hand an' pulled back the sheet from
the dear dead face.

"My God!" was all he said, an' he staggered back to a chair an' sat in
it for five minutes without a word, his face in his hands.

"Madam, forgive me! I never dreamed of such a thing," he cried at
last, recoverin' himself; "an' when an' how did it happen?"

I told him the story between sobs, breakin' down every few words.
Thank Heaven! it wasn't a long story, or I should have gone crazy
before it was told. He was silent for quite a spell, as if he was
a-meditatin' over the situation, lookin' mostly at poor Micah as if
drawin' ideas from the cold lips.

"Now, Mrs. Pyncheon!" he said fina