"Is this the road to Woodburn?" he asked them.
"Aye," they answered briefly.
He had almost passed them when he stopped again, drawing in his breath. "Oh, are you—is this Colonel"
"Aye, lad," said the oldest of the bearers, "this is the funeral procession of the best commander and truest man who ever lived."
"But why" began the boy, looking at the flag.
"He's wrapped in the flag of the king that he was a loyal servant to, because the damned psalm-singing hypocrites in the town where he lived of late would not make a coffin for him—no, nor allow ground to bury him—no, nor men to bear him out to his grave! We be men who have served under him in three wars, and we come from over the mountain to do the last service for him. He saved our lives for us more than once—brave Colonel Gid!"
They all uncovered at the name, and the boy shyly and awkwardly took his cap off.
"May I—may I see him once again?" he asked, dropping his bundle. "He saved my life too."
Two men put their gnarled old hands to the flag and drew it down from the head of the bier. The boy did not speak, but he went nearer and nearer with an expression on his face which one of the old men answered aloud. "Aye, is he not at peace! God grant we may all look so when the time comes."
They let the flag fall over the dead face again, set their shoulders to the bier, and moved forward, bringing down their great staves rhythmically as they walked. The boy stood still looking after them. When they passed
