"Where is Piper?" asked the Parson.
The little rifleman pointed to the tall clothes—horse hung about with cloaks, which made a Sanctuary of the far end of the kitchen.
"Is he dead?" whispering.
"I fancies so, sir. Lingered it out wunnerful, chattin to the Genelman, ummin an ymn and that. But he's not to say spoke these hours past."
The door opened and Kit entered on tip-toe.
The Parson beckoned him, and drawing aside the clothes-horse, entered the
Sanctuary.
Kit followed reverently.
Within stood the kitchen dresser. On it, in the religious light, lay the old foretop-man.
Somebody had flung a horse-blanket about his lower body that, lying so, the horror of what was not might be concealed.
Yet even so Kit found himself shuddering.