" They were
glad when they saw George Olver stand up in their midst--George Olver,
least subject of them all to dreams or ecstasies, but with his slow,
labored speech, and his sorrowful, bowed head. He took his place beside
the coffin of his friend, looked gently at that face, and squared his
shoulders for a moment then, and held his head with the old manly air:
"When Uncle 'Lihu died," said he; "my friend and me walked home together
from the funeral, and Luther says to me: 'I want you to promise me,
George, that if I shed die, you wouldn't have that man to preach over
me,' meanin' the minister, though he was kindly to him; 'and he means
well,' says he; 'but he don't understand us; he knows naught about us
'ceptin' that now we're dead, and not bein' used to them long texts o'
hisn, it frets our folks,' says he. 'They weary on't, so long a string
they bar'ly understand; but I would rather,' Luther says, 'have some one
amongst my folks that knowed me well, git up and speak, ef it was only:
_This was my friend lies here; I loved him_. And promise me, George, ef I
shed die, you'd hev no stranger preachin' over me, but speak some such
easy words yourself for love o' me.
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