Still Job stood
watching the soldiers, listening to the band until it had moved
onward, past the spot where he was. Then his eyes fell on the
hearse, and he took one eager step forward. Surely that was a
familiar sight! The carriages came next, and by that time there
was no hesitancy in his mind; for at length he recognized all the
solemn import of the procession. It was a funeral, and in funerals
Job had often borne a conspicuous part. The band was doubtless his
call to duty; and should any one say that he had failed, even in
his old age, to respond to this call? He took another step
forward, paused again, for only one instant; then, just as the
last carriage passed the gate, he swung his aged tail round and
round, in two rapturous, joyful whisks, and with tossing head and
flying mane, he trotted rapidly out into the street, overtook the
procession and, dropping into a decorous walk just as his nose
touched the back of the rear carriage, he marched solemnly off
down the street, with patient resignation and unending sadness
depicted in every line of his old brown body.
Inside the parlor the girls, without a thought of their past
interest in Pete's funeral, turned and gazed at each other in
silence for a moment, then sank to the floor, in uncontrollable,
though noiseless laughter.
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