approach his tomb and that unless something was done, it might soon be washed into the river. My mother became anxious when she learned about it—I couldn't keep it from her as she knows how to read—and could hardly sleep for several nights. But what could I do? I had neither time nor money for the trip. I could not do a thing at the time.
"It was put off until now. The New Year vacation gave me the opportunity to come back South and rebury his body. He drained another cup and said, looking out the window, "We have no such climate up there—flowers in the snow and temperature above freezing, while snow lies on the ground . . . It was day before yesterday. I bought a small coffin—for I thought that the original one must have rotted away long ago—and some new bedding and cotton batting, and went out to the country with four laborers to attend to the reinterment. I suddenly had an exalted feeling; I wanted to help with the digging; I wanted to see the remains of the little brother who used to get along so splendidly with me. I had never had any experience with such things before. When I arrived at the cemetery, I found that the river was indeed eating into the bank and was now only about two feet from the tomb, which was in a pitiful state, almost level with the ground, as no earth had been heaped upon it for two years. I stood in the snow and, pointing to it, said to the laborers with great resolution, 'Now dig here!' I must have appeared rather foolish. I felt that there was something strangely impressive in my voice, that this was the most important and significant command I had ever given in all my life. But the laborers did not seem to be awed or surprised; they set to work without any emotion. When the chamber was reached, I went over to look, and found, as I expected, that the coffin had almost rotted away. There was only a pile of
