"I can't help it, Almira." His eyes were brimming with amusement. "Our boys are getting waked up already."
"I ain't asleep," declared Peletiah, looking up at his father in amazement;
"I'm eating my dinner."
"So am I," announced Ezekiel wisely, and putting out his plate for another potato.
"So I see," said his father gravely. "Well, now we're all getting on very well," he added, in great satisfaction, with a glance around the table. "Good-bye; you must excuse me, wife; you know I must get over to the funeral early."
"Is old Miss Bedlow dead, Ma?" asked Peletiah, pausing in the act of getting some gravy to his mouth.
"Yes, dear. Take care, Peletiah, and pay attention to your dinner."
Peletiah set down the mouthful on his plate. "I hain't got to go, have I,
Ma?" he asked, in trepidation.
"No, dear; now go on with your dinner, and don't say 'hain't.'"
"I'm glad I haven't got to go," observed Peletiah, with a long sigh of relief, and beginning on his dinner once more. "I don't like funerals."
"I do." Rachel bobbed her black head at him across the table, and her eyes roved excitedly. "I've seen lots an' lots of 'em in the city. They're fine, I tell you." She laid down her knife and fork again and waved her arms. "Oh, a string of carriages as long—an' the corpse is sometimes in a white box, and heaps of flowers. I like 'em next to the circus."