"See 'em looking back; my father won't like it."
"Oh, dear me!" Rachel struggled with her sobs. "You shouldn't 'a' told me
you had 'em. That ain't a funeral."
"It is, too," declared Peletiah; "it's Miss Bedlow's funeral, and my Pa is
going to bury her."
"It ain't, either; an' that's a baker's cart," said Rachel, pointing to the
departing hearse with scorn.
"Oh, oh, what a story!" exclaimed Ezekiel, who was just on the point of
reproving his brother for contradicting, and he pointed his brown finger at
her. "That's got Miss Bedlow in, and they're taking her to the
burying-ground, and it's her funeral."
"Well, I don't want to go back to the city," said Rachel hastily,
dismissing Miss Bedlow and her funeral and all discussion thereon
summarily, and she dug the toe of her shoe into the gravel; "don't let your
mother send me back."
"You said you wished you were back there," observed Peletiah severely,
fixing his pale eyes on her distressed face, along which the tears were
making little paths.
"Well, I don't care. I don't want to go. Don't let her!" She seized his arm
and shook it smartly.
"You're shaking me!" said Peletiah, in astonishment.
"I know it, an' I'm goin' to," said Rachel, stamping her foot.
"You ain't going to shake my brother," declared Ezekiel loudly, "and we'll
make you go back if you shake us," he added vindictively.
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