Miss Mink's Soldier and Other Stories

								

had accumulated during the week, she started for the coal-shed to get an
armful of kindling.
Dusk was coming on, and Hurricane Hollow had never seemed more lonesome
and deserted. The corn-shocks leaned toward one another as if they were
afraid of a common enemy. Somewhere down the road a dog howled dismally.
Amanda resolutely pushed open the door of the shed, and felt her way
toward the pile of chips. Suddenly she found her progress blocked by a
strange and colossal object. It was an oblong affair, and it stood on
one end, which was larger than the other. With growing curiosity she
felt its back and sides, and then peered around it to get a front view.
What she saw sent her flying back to the cabin with her mouth open and
her limbs shaking.
"Gordon Lee," she cried, "whose coffin is that settin' in our
coal-shed?"
The candidate for the next world looked very much embarrassed.
"Well, 'Mandy," he began lamely, "I can't say 'zactly ez hit's any
pusson's jes yit. But hit's gwine be mine when de summons comes."
"Where'd you git it at?" demanded his Nemesis.
His eyes shifted guiltily.
"De foundry boss done been heah las' week, an' he gimme some money. I
'lowed I was layin' hit up fer a rainy day."
"An' you mean to tell me," she cried, "that you took that money an'
spent it for a coffin, a white one with shiny handles, an' a satin
bolster that'll done be wore out, an' et up by moths, 'fore you ever git
a chancet to use it?"
"Couldn't you fix hit up in terbaccy er mothballs ag'in' de time I need
hit?" Gordon Lee asked helplessly.
But Amanda was too exasperated this time to argue the matter. Fifty
dollars' worth of coffin in the coal-shed and fifty cents' worth of coal
in the bin constituted a situation that demanded her entire attention.
For six months now Gordon Lee had remained in bed, firm in the belief
that he could not walk on account of the spell that had been laid upon
him. During that time he had come to take a luxurious satisfaction in
the interest his case was exciting in the neighborhood. Being in
excellent physical condition, he could afford the melancholy joy of
playing with the idea of death. He spent hours discussing the details of
his funeral, which had assumed in his mind the proportions of a pageant.
Amanda, on the other hand, overworked and anxious, and compelled to
forego her lodges and societies, became more and more irascible and
depressed. In some subtle way she was aware that the sympathy of the
colored community was solidly with Gordon Lee. Nobody now asked her how
he was. Nobody came to the cabin when she was there, though it was
apparent that visitors were frequent during her absence. Aunt Kizzy had
evidently been busy in the neighborhood.
One night Amanda sat very long over the stove rolling her hair into
little wads about the length and thickness of her finger, then tightly
wrapping each with a stout bit of cord to take out the kink. When Gordon