Two days later the blinds of the little cottage were closed, and crape
hung in solemn black upon the front door. The neighbors, and indeed
the whole population of the village, came and went continually--some
few with genuine grief and sympathy, and the many others to satisfy
a morbid curiosity regarding the man whose life had so suddenly ended.

It was a dismal enough time for the inmates. Richard did all a brave
boy can do to comfort his mother and sisters, but he himself needed
consolation fully as much as any of them. He had thought much of his
father, and the cold form lying in the draped coffin in the parlor
sent a chill through his heart that would have an effect in all after
life.

At last the funeral was over, and the last of the neighbors had gone
away. It was nearly sunset, and the entire family had gathered in the
little kitchen to partake of a cup of tea, and to talk over the
situation. Mrs. Dare sat in a rocking-chair beside the table, her face
plainly showing her intense grief, and near her, on a low stool, sat
Richard.

"Well, mother, I suppose I will have to do something very soon now,"
began the boy. "It won't do for me to remain idle when there is no
money coming in."

Mrs. Dare sighed.

"I can't think of money matters yet, Richard," she replied, shaking
her head sadly. "It is all so sudden, so unexpected, I cannot realize
our terrible loss."