He cried when she told him to cry; he coughed when she told him to cough; he kissed the baby when she told him to kiss it; he took medicine from the tin pail in the form of the cherry juice left there, and did not have to make believe that it sickened him, as she said he must, for that was a reality.

But when she told him he must die, but pray first, he demurred, and asked what he should say.

Jerry hesitated a little.

She knew that her prayers were 'Our Father,' and 'Now I lay me,' but it seemed to her that a person dying should say something else, and at last she replied: 'I can't think what she did say, only a lot about _him_.

There was a _him_ somewhere, and I guess he was naughty, so pray for _him_, and the baby--that's me--and tell Manny she must take me to Mecky,' 'To whom ?' Arthur asked, and she replied: 'To Mecky, where he was, don't you know ?' Arthur did not know, but he prayed for _him_, saying what she bade him say--a mixture half English, half German.
'There now, you are dead,' she said at last, as she closed his eyes and folded his hand upon his chest, 'You are dead, and mustn't stir nor breathe, no matter how awful we cry, Man-nee and I.' Kneeling down beside him, she began to cry so like that of two persons that if Arthur had not known to the contrary, he would have sworn there were two beside him, a woman and a child, the voice of the one shrill and clear, and young, and frightened, the other older, and harsher, and stronger, and both blending together in a most astonishing manner.
'With a little practice she would make a wonderful ventriloquist,' Arthur thought, as he watched her flitting about the room, talking to unseen people and giving orders with regard to himself.
Once Frank had witnessed a pantomine very similar to this, only then the play had ended with the death, while now there was the burial, and when Arthur moved a little and asked if he might get up, she laid her hand quickly on his mouth, with a peremptory 'hush! you are dead and we must bury you.' But here Jerry's memory failed her, and the funeral which followed was an imitation of the one which had left the Park House three years before, and which Arthur had watched from his window.