"A fu-nee-ral per-cession was a-passin' down a street
That was lin'd with mansions stately, rich, and grand;
A tiny girl was sobbin', her lit-tull heart most broke,
A tear-stained hank-er-chuff was in her hand.
A tall and stately gentlemun, touched by her sorry plight,
For she was pale and ragged, thin and wan,
He stopped and took her lit-tull hand, and gently bending o'er,
'Don't cry, my child, I 'll help you if I can.'”=
All the horrors of the night and the forest were gathered up into that wailing voice. Beveridge shuddered. But Pink was warming up to it now, sharing his misery with the night. If the verse had been doleful, the refrain was worse:—=
“'Mother's in the coffun, sir,