in black, up a long hill, to a white church in a churchyard where the
grass was still green between the tombstones. The bell in the white
steeple was tolling slowly, solemnly. Soft grey clouds hung over the
steeple and snow-flakes as big as rose-leaves began to fill the air.
Presently the bell ceased tolling and he and Nurse Betty moved up the
aisle behind a train of figures in black, with black streamers floating
from their sleeves. The figures bent beneath a heavy burden. It was long
and black and grim, but the flowers that covered it were snow-white and
filled the church with a sweet smell. A white-robed figure led the way
up the aisle, repeating, as he walked, some words so solemn and full of
melody that they sounded almost like music. The church was dim, and
quiet, and nearly empty. The organ began to play--oh, so softly! It was
very beautiful, but still the boy shuddered, for he dimly realized that
the grim box held the sleeping form that seemed to be his mother, but
was not his real mother. _Her_ kisses were not frozen, and _she_ was in
Heaven with the angels.

The choir sang sweet music and the white-robed priest said more solemn
words that were like spoken music; then the procession moved slowly down
the aisle again and out of the door. The bell in the steeple was silent
now, and the organ was silent. Silently the procession moved--silently
the snow came down. Silently and softly, like white flowers. The green
graves were white with it now, like the flowers on the coffin lid; but
the open grave in the churchyard corner, near the wall--it was dark, and
deep and terrible! The boy's heart almost stood still as, clinging to
Nurse Betty's hand, he stared into its yawning mouth. He felt that he
would choke--would suffocate. They were lowering the box into that deep,
dark pit! What if the sleeping figure should awake, after all--awake to
the darkness and narrowness of that narrow bed!