A third averred that the child was "the very spit out of its father's mouth." Ghost stories, stories of the famine, of hard luck, of hunger, of pain and the thousand and one aspects of social and personal sorrow had the changes rung on them.
Anna sat in the corner. She had to listen, she had to answer when directly addressed and the prevailing idea of politeness made her the center of every story and the object of every moral!
The refreshments were all distributed and diplomatically the mourners were informed that there was nothing more; nevertheless they stayed on and on. Nerve-racked and unstrung, Anna staggered to her feet and took Jamie to the door.
"I'll go mad, dear, if I have to stand it all night!"
They dared not be discourteous. A reputation for heartlessness would have followed Anna to the grave if she had gone to bed while the dead child lay there.
Withero had been at old William Farren's wake and was going home when he saw Anna and Jamie at the door. They explained the situation.
"Take a dandther down toward th' church," he said, "an' then come back."
Willie entered the house in an apparently breathless condition.
"Yer takin' it purty aisy here," he said, "whin 'Jowler' Hainey's killin' his wife an' wreckin' th' house!"
In about two minutes he was alone. He put a coal in his pipe and smoked for a minute. Then he went over to the little coffin. He took his pipe out of his mouth, laid it on the mantel-shelf and returned. The little hands were folded. He unclasped them, took one of them in his rough calloused palm.