white and shining world. The sky was blue and sparkling, and the keen
north wind had carved the drifts into wonderful overhanging curves, like
the curling crests of breakers.

John Ward went early to Mrs. Davis's. The sharp agony of the night before
was over; there was even a momentary complacency at the importance of
death, for the room was full of neighbors, whose noisy sympathy drove her
despair of her husband's fate from her mind. But when she saw John, her
terror came back, and she began to be silent, and not so ready to tell
the story of the dead man's bravery to each one that entered. But with
the people who were not immediately affected, the excitement of Tom's
death could scarcely last.

By the afternoon his widow was for the most part alone. Helen had thought
it would be so, and waited until then to go and see her. But first she
went into her kitchen, and she and Alfaretta packed a little basket with
cold meat, and sweet, snowy bread, and some jam, for the children.

"They do say," Alfaretta said, as she tucked the corners of the napkin
under the wicker cover,--"they do say Tom Davis went straight to the bad
place, last night. He wasn't never converted, you know; but somehow,
seein' as he really thought he was going to save that Charley, seein' as
he died for him, as you might say, it don't seem like as if it was
just"--Alfaretta lowered her voice a little--"as if it was just--fair. Do
you think he went there, Mrs. Ward?"

"I know he did not," Helen answered promptly. "I don't think about hell
quite as you do, Alfaretta. I cannot believe God punishes people
eternally; for if He is good, He could not be so cruel. Why, no human
being would be so cruel as that, and do you think we ought to believe