Hill and
Peggy Sullivan, if she ain't drunk. Either of them will come!" And a few
moments later the room was filled with the rude neighbors.
They did not think it necessary to call a coroner. She had been ailing
for a long time. Heart complaint, the physician said--and she had
probably died in one of those spasms to which she was subject. So they
robed her for the grave, and when all was done, Arch stole in and laid
the pinks and roses on her breast.
"Oh, mother! mother!" he said, bending over her, in agony, "she sent them
to you, and you shall have them! I thought they would make you so happy!
Well, maybe they will now! Who can tell?"
The funeral was a very poor one. A kind city missionary prayed over the
remains, and the hearse was followed to Potter's Field only by Mat and
Arch--ragged and tattered, but sincere mourners.
When they came back Mat took Arch's hand and led him into the wretched
den she called home.
"You shall stay here, Arch, with Grandma Rugg and me. She said you might
if you'd be a good boy, and not plague the cat. Grandma's a rough one,
but she ain't kicked me since I tore her cap off. I'm too big to be
kicked now. Sit down, Arch; you know you can't stay at home now."
Yes, to be sure he could not stay there any longer.
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