THE CAKE-WALK FUNERALBig, hearty, nineteen-year-old black Bertha, in the Middle West, was from the country, and on her Thursdayafternoon out, came home very earlyfrom a church-funeral she had gone to attend.“Why, Bertha,” said the lady of thehouse, “what brought you back sosoon? You didn’t go to the funeral, did you?”“Yessuni, 1 done went,” replied big Bertha, “but 1 comes home. Dem o’l town fun’rils iz ag’in’ my conshunse. W’eu dat brass ban’ play, all dem chu’ch niggahs dey done de cake-walk,—down de aisles ob de chu’ch an’ throode streets all tie way to de buryin’-groun’,—an’ w’cu de brass ban’ play atde grave, dem niggahs dey hop an’ dey pranch up an’ down right ’longside de co’pse. Dey did so, Miss Clara, an’ I done lit out an’ comes home. Dem ol’ cake-walk fun’rils iz ag’in’ my conshunse, Miss Clara, dey sho’ iz.”— Emma Cakleton, in September Lippin-cott’s.