"But what if I don't choose to go?" returned Alan. "Mrs. Adams asked me here to spend the afternoon, and you wouldn't any of you have known what was going on, if it hadn't been for me."
"You shall stay and tell all the stories you like, Alan," said Polly, coming to his defence as usual. "And if Molly doesn't like it, she shall go home, her own self."
"Come, Alan," urged Florence; "tell us another story, a real long one, to help pass the time."
"Hm! Let's see," mused Alan. "I don't know as I know any. I'll tell you, I read one a while ago that I liked pretty well, and if I get hard up, I can put in some of that. How'll that do?"
"Beautifully," said Polly, with enthusiasm. "You do tell such splendid stories, Alan."
The group in Mrs. Adams's parlor had gathered there for a strange purpose, that day. An old negro, well-known throughout the town, had died, two days before, and Alan had discovered, only that noon, that the man was to be buried with military honors. The line of march to the cemetery lay past the Adams house, so Mrs. Adams had asked them all to come there, to watch the solemn pageant. It was a cold, gray April day, threatening rain at any moment. As the girls and Alan reached the gate, they had paused, for a minute, to watch the fast-gathering crowd as it hurried away up the street to the old brown house, just visible in the distance, whose end, jutting out on the street, was surrounded with the members of the company, who had assembled to pay the last honors to their sleeping comrade. Under the dull, leaden sky, and in the shade of the arching elms, the old house and the road and the gray-coated men looked to the children as if the heavy shadow which rested over the silent room within had extended over them all, and was enveloping them in its sombre gloom. Though only a moment before, they had been laughing and talking in mere curious interest, they grew suddenly quiet, as they realized that the swift, mysterious summons had come to old Pete, whom they had known so well.
"And they say," said Alan, as Polly joined them at the gate, and they lingered there, "that Pete's little dog won't leave the room one minute, but just lies there and watches him. They tried to get him away, for the funeral, but he snarled at them so they had to let him be."
Katharine's face softened.
"That's a friend worth having," said she thoughtfully. "Some people say 'only a dog,' but if he is faithful to his master, even after death has come, what more can he do?"
"Oh, dear me; there's Job!" exclaimed Polly suddenly, as the old creature stalked into sight. "How did he get out?"