"You'd oughter brought it with you. Where'd we get one here, I'd like
ter know?"
Mr. Miles, looking at the others, repeated: "Is it possible you have no
coffin ready?"
"That's what I say: them that has it sleeps better," an old woman
murmured. "But then she never had no bed...."
"And the stove warn't hers," said the lank-haired man, on the defensive.
Mr. Miles turned away from them and moved a few steps apart. He had
drawn a book from his pocket, and after a pause he opened it and began
to read, holding the book at arm's length and low down, so that the
pages caught the feeble light. Charity had remained on her knees by the
mattress: now that her mother's face was covered it was easier to stay
near her, and avoid the sight of the living faces which too horribly
showed by what stages hers had lapsed into death.
"I am the Resurrection and the Life," Mr. Miles began; "he that
believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.... Though after
my skin worms destroy my body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.
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