that the murder had anything to do with her state of mind. She had a
boyish horror of admitting to fears, mental or physical. She stood
opposite Douglas, with a round beaver cap pulled down over her curly
hair, her cheeks not so red as usual, her dark eyes rimmed and puzzled.
Douglas wondered what she was puzzling over and resolved that after the
ceremonies were over, he would ask her.

Douglas could not know with what intensity his deep-set eyes turned from
Judith and fastened upon Grandma Brown, who stood at the head of the
grave. There was a contented assurance in the old lady's manner that
was vaguely comforting to the boy. He wondered what she knew that his
father and Peter and Charleton did not know.

As the coffin was lowered into the grave, Grandma said, "Does anybody
feel like saying a few last words?"

There was a silence broken only by the murmur of the Forest, then Johnny
Brown cleared his throat. "I might say a whole lot of things. I wasn't so
goldarned proud of Oscar like the rest of you seemed to be. He had a
gregus kind of a temper and oncet--"

Grandma turned on him. "Johnny Brown, ain't you ashamed of yourself!"

"No, I ain't! You say I ain't all here, and the part that I'd be ashamed
with is the part that's gone," returned Johnny firmly.

Judith gave an irrepressible snort, then fastened solemn eyes on the sky.
A restless clearing of throats swept the little assemblage; then Grandma,
indignation still in her kind old voice, spoke once more.