could, but I didn't have no pride in it. It seems different now."

They went in together, Mrs. Davis crying quietly. Tom's face was hidden,
and a fine instinct of possession, which came with the strange uplifting
of the moment, made his wife shrink from uncovering it.

She stroked the varnished lid of the coffin, with her rough hands, as
tenderly as though the poor bruised body within could feel her touch.

"How do you like it?" she asked anxiously. "I wanted to do what I could
fer Tom. I got the best I could. Mr. Ward give me some money, and I
spent it this way. I thought I wouldn't mind going hungry, afterwards.
You don't suppose,"--this with a sudden fear, as one who dreads to fall
asleep lest a terrible dream may return,--"you don't suppose I'll forget
these things you've been tellin' me, and think _that_ of Tom?"

"No," Helen answered, "not if you just say to yourself that I told you
what Mr. Dean said was not true. Never mind if you cannot remember the
reasons I have given you,--I'll tell them all to you again; just try and
forget what the elder said."

"I will try," she said; and then wavering a little, "but the preacher,
Mrs. Ward?"

"The preacher," Helen answered bravely, "will think this way, too, some
day, I know." And then she made the same excuse for him which she had
given Alfaretta, with the same pang of regret.

"Yes, ma'am," the woman said, "I see. I feel now as though I could love
God real hard 'cause He's good to Tom. But Mrs. Ward, the preacher must