..." She had said it to herself often
enough as she looked across the sunlit valleys at the Mountain; but it
had meant nothing then, and now it had become a reality. Mr. Miles took
her gently by the arm, and they entered what appeared to be the only
room in the house. It was so dark that she could just discern a group
of a dozen people sitting or sprawling about a table made of boards laid
across two barrels. They looked up listlessly as Mr. Miles and Charity
came in, and a woman's thick voice said: "Here's the preacher." But no
one moved.
Mr. Miles paused and looked about him; then he turned to the young man
who had met them at the door.
"Is the body here?" he asked.
The young man, instead of answering, turned his head toward the group.
"Where's the candle? I tole yer to bring a candle," he said with sudden
harshness to a girl who was lolling against the table. She did not
answer, but another man got up and took from some corner a candle stuck
into a bottle.
"How'll I light it? The stove's out," the girl grumbled.
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