The preacher threw down one of the pole bars and went through into the meadow. The others followed him along the path to the house. As they drew near they heard the voices of the children. At the threshold the preacher stopped, and those behind him crowded up to look into the house.
The door was open. The sun entering, filled the room with light.
On chairs in the middle of this room stood a coffin made of the odds and ends of rough hoards, but marvelously joined. Beside it stood the School-teacher, and at either end was one of the children; the three of them were fitting a board on the coffin for a and, and they were talking together.
When the minister entered, the Schoolteacher removed the board and laid it down on the floor, and the two children, as by some instinct, drew near to the man, on either side, and took hold of his hands.
They became instantly silent.
The minister went up to the chair, looked a moment into the coffin and took his place at the head of it. The others followed.
The dead man lay in the rough box like one asleep. There was in his face a peace so profound that the hard, mean, ugly features of this old man seemed to have been remodeled under some marvelous fingers.
The minister, with his bad eye, seemed not to observe this transfiguration, but the others marked it and crowded around the coffin.
The minister took out his watch, looked at it, and snapped the case.
“If you will find seats, we'll begin the service,” he said. “The stranger here seems to have made all necessary preparations for the burial.”