It was dreadful; and after she had said it, Rachel stood overwhelmed with distress². "Don't you tell your father." She whirled around and clutched Peletiah's sleeve.

 

"We must," he said; "he's the minister, and we have to tell him everything."

 

"Well, don't tell your mother, anyway," she begged anxiously.

 

"We must," said Peletiah again, "because we tell her everything, too."

 

"Then she'll send me back." Rachel, quite gone in despair, gave a loud cry and threw herself face downward on the grass, where she sobbed³ as if her heart would break.

 

This was so much worse than he had imagined, as any possible effect from his words, that Peletiah couldn't speak, but stood over her in silent misery⁴. Seeing this, Ezekiel took matters into his own hands.

 

"I'm going to run after the funeral and get Ma to come home; she'll be at the top of the procession," and he moved off toward the gateway⁵.

 

"Stop!" Rachel squealed⁶; then she sprang to her feet. "Don't you stir a step, you!" she commanded.

 

"They're all hearing you," observed Peletiah, who, seeing Rachel upon her feet, found his spirits reviving, and he pointed⁷ to the line of buggies and chaises. "See 'em looking back; my father won't like it."

 

"Oh, dear me!" Rachel struggled with her sobs⁸. "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.

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