"They're all hearing you," observed Peletiah, who, seeing Rachel upon her feet, found his spirits reviving, and he pointed to the line of buggies and chaises. "See 'em looking back; my father won't like it."
"Oh, dear me!" Rachel struggled with her sobs. "You shouldn't 'a' told me you had 'em. That ain't a funeral."
"It is, too," declared Peletiah; "it's Miss Bedlow's funeral, and my Pa is going to bury her."
"It ain't, either; an' that's a baker's cart," said Rachel, pointing to the departing hearse with scorn.
"Oh, oh, what a story!" exclaimed Ezekiel, who was just on the point of reproving his brother for contradicting, and he pointed his brown finger at her. "That's got Miss Bedlow in, and they're taking her to the burying-ground, and it's her funeral."
"Well, I don't want to go back to the city," said Rachel hastily, dismissing Miss Bedlow and her funeral and all discussion thereon summarily, and she dug the toe of her shoe into the gravel; "don't let your mother send me back."
"You said you wished you were back there," observed Peletiah severely, fixing his pale eyes on her distressed face, along which the tears were making little paths.
"Well, I don't care. I don't want to go. Don't let her!" She seized his arm and shook it smartly.
"You're shaking me!" said Peletiah, in astonishment.
"I know it, an' I'm goin' to," said Rachel, stamping her foot.