Then came the question of burial, as to when, and where, and at whose expense.  Quite a number of people had assembled and the little room was full.  Conspicuous among them was Peterkin, who, having been elected to an office, which necessitated a care for the expenditures of the village, was swelled with importance, and dying for a chance to be heard.

When Harold came into the room Jerry was with him.  She had refused to let him leave her, and he led her by the hand into the midst of the men, who grew as silent and respectful the moment she appeared as if she had been a woman instead of a little child, who could speak no word of their language, or understand what was said to her.  It was her mother lying there dead, and they made way for her as, catching sight of the white face, she uttered a cry of joy, and running up to the body, patted the cold cheeks, while she kept calling ‘Mah-nee, Mah-nee,’ and saying words unintelligible to all, but full of pathos and love, and child-like coaxing for the inanimate form to rouse itself, and speak to her again.

‘Poor little thing,’ was said by more than one, and hands went up to eyes unused to tears, for the sight was a touching one—­that lovely child bending over the dead face, and imprinting kisses upon it.

Harold took her away from the body, and lifting her into a chair, kept by her, as with her arm around his neck, she stood listening to, and watching, and sometimes imitating the gestures of the men around her.

It was Peterkin who spoke first; standing back so straight that his immense stomach, with the heavy gold watch-chain hanging across it, seemed to fill the room, he gave his opinion before any one had a chance to express theirs.

It was the first time he had been in the house since the morning after the party, when Arthur had turned him from the door.  He had vowed vengeance against the Tracys then, and kept his vow by spending two thousand dollars in order to defeat Frank as member of Congress and to get himself elected as one of the village trustees, and now he had come, partly out of curiosity to see the woman, and partly to oppose her being buried by the town, if such a thing were suggested.

‘Let them Tracys bury their own dead,’ he said to his wife before he left home, and he said it again in substance now, as with a tremendous ‘ahem!’ he commenced his speech standing close to little Jerry, who never took her eyes from him, but watched him with a face which varied in its expression with every variation in his voice and manner, and reached its climax when he said:  ‘I don’t b’lieve in saddlin’ the town with a debt we don’t orto pay.  Let the Tracys bury their own dead, I say!’

’’Ess, ’ess, ‘ess,’ Jerry chimed in with an emphatic shake of her head with each ‘’ess,’ and a flourish of her hand more threatening than approving toward the speaker, who glanced at her and went on: 

’Do you see, gentlemen of the jury, who this cub looks like.  I do! and so can you with half an eye.  She looks like Arthur Tracy!’