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fearlessness, even his good temper, seem disquieting to others,
irritating, a bore, something to escape.
During that year he remained in the city by the flood preach
ing and working at hard manual labour.
But the next winter, well along toward the end, there was an
epidemic of pneumonia and my little apostle was stricken
suddenly and removed to a cheerless public hospital. There,
gasping and choking so horribly that it was almost impossible
to watch him, he died the night of his arrival. Nothing but
a rickety screen of wood and cloth separated him from a score
of other sick men when he died. Next night, washed and
dressed in its usual neat clothes, with white linen and a gay
coloured cravat, the beautiful plump little figure lay in a
hideous black coffin with cheap white lining in the lonely
gloomy little mission house that he had found somewhere off
on the northern edge of the town. Two or three people watched
perfunctorily by the body; but though it was almost spring
and the day had been wet, the place grew cold as the night
waned, and became almost intolerably dismal and horrible.
The next day, when he was buried, was just such another
old winter day, really a wet spring day. The low dirty white
sky was heavy with the breath of the lakes; tne air was thick
with rain; and the filthy snow melted in corners and mingled
its muddy dirty water with that which dripped in showers from
the soaked and swollen black roofs. The motor vehicles, tram-
cars, and the thousands of feet splashed the water onto the
morose people, the buildings, and the shop windows. The
Negro’s wife, not much affected, arrived from Nashville in
time to attend the service at the mission house and to go in the
cortege to the cemetery.
I left the service early, and riding on various trams and
walking part of the time, crossed the low flat scattered city to
the great out-of-the-way cemetery off on the western edge where
he was to be buried. This tract lies beyond a vast expanse of
the dirty little wooden houses of the city, which stand wall to
wall along endless monotonous streets; but it lies on the bank
of a little winding stream that is tributary to the great one by
which the city stands. High stone supports and black iron
palings fence the great cemetery, which stretches away out of