“Do not look for Reuby—­he has hid,” came in a slow, measured whisper from her lips.  “And leave me alone.”  “Yes, I know.  You need not be afraid.  I understand that Mr. Kinney is dead,” she added, as the men hesitated and looked bewilderedly in her face.  “I will stay alone with him till the doctor comes,” and Draxy gently closed the door and locked it.  In a short time the little hall and door-yard were crowded with sobbing men and women.  There was little to be told, but that little was told over and over.  The Elder had walked down to the village store with old Ike, and had just given him some parcels to carry home, saying, “Tell Mrs. Kinney,”—­when a runaway horse had come dashing furiously down the street, drawing a wagon in which clung, rather than sat, a woman holding a baby in her arms.  The Elder had sprung into the middle of the road, and caught the horse by the bridle as he swerved a little to one side; but the horse was too strong and too much frightened to be held by any man’s strength.  Rearing high, he had freed his head, and plunging forward had knocked the Elder down in such a way that both wagon-wheels had run over his neck, breaking it instantly.

“He never talked so much like an angel from heaven’s he did this mornin’,” sobbed Ike, who looked already decrepit and broken from this sudden blow.  “He was a tellin’ me about suthin’ new that’s jest been discovered in the sun; I couldn’t rightly make it out; but says he, ’Ike, how glorious ’twill be when we can jest fly from one sun to another, all through this universe o’ God’s, an’ not be a tryin’ in these poor little airthly ways to understand ‘bout things.’”

That Draxy should be all this time alone with her husband’s body seemed dreadful to these sympathizing, simple-hearted people.  No sound came from the room, though the windows were all wide open.

“O Mr. Miller! don’t ye think some on us had better try to git in to her,” said the women; “she don’t make no noise.”

“No.” replied Reuben, feebly.  He, too, was prostrated like Ike by the fearful blow, and looked years older within the hour.  “No:  Draxy knows what’s best for her.  She’s spoke to me once through the door.  She hasn’t fainted.”

“When the doctor came, Reuben called to Draxy,—­

“Daughter, the doctor’s come.”

The door opened instantly, but closed as soon as the doctor had entered.  In a few moments it opened again, and the doctor handed a slip of paper to Reuben.  He unfolded it and read it aloud:—­

“Father dear, please thank all the people for me, and ask them to go home now.  There is nothing they can do.  Tell them it grieves me to hear them cry, and Mr. Kinney would not wish it.”

Slowly and reluctantly the people went, and a silence sadder than the sobs and grieving voices settled down on the house.  Reuben sat on the stairs, his head leaning against the study-door.  Presently he heard a light step coming down.  It was young Mrs. Plummer, the mother of Benjy.  She whispered, “I’ve found Reuby.  He’s asleep on the garret floor.  He’d thrown himself down on some old carpet, way out in the darkest corner, under the eaves.  I’ve covered him up, an’ I’m goin’ to sit by him till he wakes up.  The longer he sleeps the better.  You tell her where he is.”