The women had comprehended, from the look of the stranger and the captain, that something unusual was going on, and they had crowded nearer and nearer, until they heard the officer’s last words.

“You’re a dreadful, hateful man!” exclaimed little Alice.

The officer winced.

“Hush, daughter,” said Alice’s mother; then she said:  “Let him take it, captain; it’s too awful to think of a man’s going right to prison from the gates of death.”

The officer did not wait for further permission, but hastily opened the bathing-dress of the still insensible figure.

Suddenly the officer started back with an oath, and the people saw, fastened to a string and lying over Mr. Putchett’s heart, a small scallop-shell, variegated with pink and yellow spots.

“It’s one I gave him when I first came here, because he couldn’t find any,” sobbed little Alice.

The officer, seeming suddenly to imagine that the gem might be secreted in the hollow of the shell, snatched at it and turned it over.  Mr. Putchett’s arm suddenly moved; his hand grasped the shell and carried it toward his lips; his eyes opened for a moment and fell upon the officer, at the sight of whom Mr. Putchett shivered and closed his eyes again.

“That chill’s a bad sign,” muttered the captain.

Mr. Putchett’s eyes opened once more, and sought little Alice; his face broke into a faint smile, and she stooped and kissed him.  The smile on his face grew brighter for an instant, then he closed his eyes and quietly carried the case up to a Court of Final Appeals, before which the officer showed no desire to give evidence.

Mr. Putchett was buried the next day, and most of the people in the neighborhood were invited to the funeral.  The story went rapidly about the neighborhood, and in consequence there were present at the funeral a number of uninvited persons:  among these were the cook, bar-keeper and hostler of the hotel, who stood uncomfortably a little way from the house until the procession started, when they followed at a respectful distance in the rear.

When the grave was reached, those who dug it—­who were also of those who carried the bier—­were surprised to find the bottom of the coffin-box strewn and hidden with wild flowers and scraps of evergreen.

The service of the Church of England was read, and as the words, “Ashes to ashes; dust to dust,” were repeated, a bouquet of wild flowers was tossed over the heads of the mourners and into the grave.  Mrs. Blough, though deeply affected by the services, looked quickly back to see who was the giver, and saw the officer (who had not been seen before that day) with such an embarrassed countenance as to leave no room for doubt.  He left before daylight next morning, to catch a very early train:  but persons passing the old graveyard that day beheld on Putchett’s grave a handsome bush of white roses, which bush old Mrs. Gale, living near the hotel, declared was a darling pot-plant which had been purchased of her on the previous evening by an ill-favored man who declared he must have it, no matter how much he paid for it.