begin, and taking the little girl in his arms, Jake motioned to Mr. Mason.  In the door between the two rooms was a stand covered with a clean white towel.  On it was a Bible, a hymn-book, a cup of water, and two or three flowers in another cup.  Mr. Mason did not need the Bible.  Jake had asked for the Resurrection and the Life, and he had brought his prayer-book, and began the beautiful burial service of the Church, to which the people listened attentively for a while; then they began to get tired, and by the time the long reading was through there were unmistakable signs of discontent among them.  They had expected something more than reading a chapter.  They wanted remarks, with laudations of the deceased.  Miss Dory was worthy of them, and because there were none they fancied the minister did not believe it was all right with her, and they resented it.  Even old Miss Thomas had “gin in,” and thar was the weddin’ ring, an’ no sermon,—­no remarks, and they didn’t like it.  Another grievance was that no hymn was given out, and there was the hymn-book at hand.  They had at least expected “Hark from the tombs,” if nothing else, but there was nothing.  Singing constituted a large part of their religious worship, and they did not mean to have Miss Dory buried without this attention.

As Mr. Mason finished the services and sat down, he was startled with an outburst of “Shall we meet beyond the river.”  Everybody joined in the song, negroes and all, their rich, full voices dominating the others, and making Mr. Mason thrill in every nerve as the quaint music filled the house, and went echoing out upon the summer air.  When the “Beautiful River” was finished some one outside the door took up the refrain: 

  “Oh, that will be joyful, joyful, joyful;
   Oh, that will be joyful,
   When we meet to part no more.”

This appealed to the blacks, who entered into the singing heart and soul, some of the older ones keeping time with a swinging motion of their bodies, and one old lady in her enthusiasm bringing down her fist upon the doorstep, on which she was sitting, and shouting in a way which warned Jake of danger.  He knew the signs, and putting down the little girl, who had fallen asleep in his lap, he went to the old negress, who was beginning to get under full headway, and holding her uplifted arm, said to her: 

“Hush, Aunt Judy, hush; this ain’t no place to have the pow’.  This ain’t a pra’r meetin’; tis a ’Piscopal funeral, this is, such as they have in Virginny.”

What Judy might have said is uncertain, for there came a diversion in the scene.  The child had followed Jake to the door, where she stood wide-eyed and attentive, and when the last words of the hymn ended, she sang in a clear, shrill voice, “Be joyful when we meet to part no more.”  Her voice was singularly sweet and full, and Mr. Mason said to himself, “She’ll be a singer some day, if she is not crazy first.”  Nothing now could keep old Judy from one more burst, and her “Yes, thank de Lawd, we’ll meet to part no mo’,” rang out like a clarion, and the religious services were over.