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‘Was it weary there
In the wilderness?
Was it weary-y-y, ‘way down in Goshen?’

“Suddenly, far down the street, there was a stir, and from the door of No. 67 half a dozen men came staggering out into the sunshine under a black coffin, which they carried shoulder high; and behind came two figures only–those of Miss Montmorency and the architect– arm in arm. The bearers wheeled round, got into step after one or two attempts, and the procession advanced.

“And I observed, as it advanced, that a hush came slowly with it, closing on the click of the balls and the strumming of the banjoes, as from saloon after saloon the players stepped out and fell in at the tail of the procession. Gradually these noises were penned into the three or four saloons immediately beneath me; and then these, too, were silenced, and the mourners began to climb the hill.

“I did not attend the funeral after all. I rose and stood hat in hand as it climbed past–the coffin, the one woman, and the many men. It was grotesque enough. Flo had on the same outrageous costume she had worn at our first meeting; but a look at the black drapery of the coffin sanctified that. One mourner, in pure absence of mind, had brought along his billiard-cue as a walking-stick; and every now and then would step out of the ranks and distribute whacks among the five or six dogs that frisked alongside the procession. But I read on every face the consciousness that Eucalyptus was doing its duty.

“So they climbed past and up to the Necropolis, and filed in between its two pillars. I could see among the pines a group or two standing, with bent heads, and Captain Bill towering beside the grave; at times I heard his voice lifted, but could not catch the words. Down in the town for a while all was silent as death. Then in a saloon below some boy–left behind, no doubt, to look after the house–took up a banjo and began to pick out slowly and with one finger the tune of ”Way down upon the Suwanee River,’ and as it went I fitted the words to it:”

‘All the world is sad and dreary
Everywhere I roam,
Oh, brudders, how my heart grows weary . . .’

“The tune ceased. The only sound now came from a robin, hunting about the turf and now and then breaking out into an impatient twitter.

“The silence was broken at length by the footsteps of the mourners returning. They went down the hill almost as decorously as they had gone up. Flo stepped aside and came towards me.

“‘Let me stay beside you for a bit. I can’t go back there–yet.’

“This was all she said; and we stood there side by side for minutes. Soon the tinkle of a banjo came up to us, and a pair of billiard balls clicked; then a second banjo joined in; and gradually, as the stream of citizens trickled back and spread, so like a stream the sound of clicking billiard balls and tinkling banjoes trickled back and spread along the main street of Eucalyptus City.”

‘Was it weary there,
In de wilderness? . . .’

“Flo looked at me and put out a hand; but drew it back before I could take it. And so, without another word, she went down the hill.”