out of the din arose the burden of negro voices "Hab mercy! Gawd hab
mercy!"

In the morning the Ladies of Tabor came and washed and dressed Caroline
Siner's body and made it ready for burial. For twenty years the old
negress had paid ten cents a month to her society to insure her burial,
and now the lodge made ready to fulfil its pledge. After many comings
and goings, the black women called Peter to see their work, as if for
his approval.

The huge dead woman lay on the four-poster with a sheet spread over the
lower part of her body. The ministrants had clothed it in the old black-
silk dress, with its spreading seams and panels of different materials.
It reminded Peter of the new dress he had meant to get his mother, and
of the modish suit which at that moment molded his own shoulders and
waist. The pitifulness of her sacrifices trembled in Peter's throat. He
pressed his lips together, and nodded silently to the black Ladies of
Tabor.

Presently the white undertaker, a silent little man with a brisk yet
sympathetic air, came and made some measurements. He talked to Peter in
undertones about the finishing of the casket, how much the Knights of
Tabor would pay, what Peter wanted. Then he spoke of the hour of burial,
and mentioned a somewhat early hour because some of the negroes wanted
to ship as roustabouts on the up-river packet, which was due at any
moment.

These decisions, asked of Peter, kept pricking him and breaking through
the stupefaction of this sudden tragedy. He kept nodding a mechanical
agreement until the undertaker had arranged all the details. Then the