There came an interval of terrible suspense--a moment of sharp agony--a deep, deep sigh--and then silence.
My father laid his hand gently upon my shoulder.
"It is all over," he said; "and his secret, if he had one, is in closer keeping than ours.

Come away, boy; this is no place for you." * * * * * CHAPTER V.
IN MEMORIAM.
The poor little Chevalier! He died and became famous.
Births, deaths and marriages are the great events of a country town; the prime novelties of a country newspaper; the salt of conversation, and the soul of gossip.

An individual who furnishes the community with one or other of these topics, is a benefactor to his species.

To be born is much; to marry is more; to die is to confer a favor on all the old ladies of the neighborhood.

They love a christening and caudle--they rejoice in a wedding and cake--but they prefer a funeral and black kid gloves.