The villagers began to gather, loitering a moment in the vestibule to converse in whispers about the sad event.

But there was no whispering in the house; only the funereal rustling of dresses as the women gathered to their seats disturbed the silence there.

None could remember when the little church had been so full before.

There was finally a waiting pause, an expectant dumbness, and then Aunt Polly entered, followed by Sid and Mary, and they by the Harper family, all in deep black, and the whole congregation, the old minister as well, rose reverently and stood until the mourners were seated in the front pew.

There was another communing silence, broken at intervals by muffled sobs, and then the minister spread his hands abroad and prayed.
A moving hymn was sung, and the text followed: "I am the Resurrection and the Life." As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the graces, the winning ways, and the rare promise of the lost lads that every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang in remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them always before, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor boys.