Stephen would have liked to stay in the church for the evening service, for which the bells were already ringing; but this did not at all suit the tastes of his father’s old comrades.  They made haste to crowd into a public-house, where they sat and drank, and forced Stephen to drink too, in order to ‘drown his grief.’  It was still a painful dream to him; and more and more, as the long hours passed on, he wondered how he came there, and what all the people about him were doing.  It was quite dark before they started homewards, and the poor old grandfather was no longer able to sit up in his chair, but lay helplessly at the bottom of the cart.  Even Martha was fast asleep, and leaned her head upon Stephen’s shoulder, without any regard for her new black bonnet.  The cart was now crowded with as many of the people as could get into it, who sang and shouted along the quiet Sunday road; and, as they insisted upon stopping at every public-house they came to, it was very late before they reached the lane leading up to Fern’s Hollow.  The grandfather was half dragged and half carried along by two of the men, followed by Stephen bearing sleepy little Nan in his arms, and by Martha, who had wakened up in a temper between crying and scolding.  The long, strange, painful dream of father’s funeral was not over yet, and Stephen was still trying to think in a stupid, drowsy fashion, when he fell heavily asleep on the bed beside his grandfather.

He awoke by habit very early in the morning, and aroused himself with a great effort against dropping asleep again.  He could realize and understand his position better now.  Father was dead; and there was no one to earn bread for them all but himself.  At this thought he sprang up instantly, though his head was aching in a manner he had never felt before.  With some difficulty he awoke Martha to get his breakfast and put up his dinner in a basket which he carried with him to the pit.  She also complained bitterly of her head aching, and moved about with a listlessness very different to her usual activity.  ’I only wish I knew what was right,’ said Stephen to himself; ’they told us we ought to show respect for father, but I don’t think he’d like this.  Perhaps if I could read the Bible all through, that would tell me everything.’

This thought reminded Stephen that he had promised his father to read his chapter every day of his life till he knew how to read more; and, carrying the old Bible to his favourite seat on the door-sill, a very pleasant place in the cool, fresh summer morning, he read the verses aloud, slowly and carefully, rather repeating than reading them, for he knew his chapter better by heart than by the printed letters in the book.  Thank God, Stephen Fern did begin to know it by heart!