“Not a thing, Harriet,” he returned cheerily. “I’m feelin’ real pert, too. Was there lots there? An’ did Parson Drew say a heap o’ fine things?”
Mrs. Clayton dropped into a chair and pulled listlessly at the black strings of her bonnet.
“’T was a beautiful fun’ral, Thaddeus--a beautiful fun’ral. I--I ’most wished it was mine.”
“Harriet!”
She gave a shamed-faced laugh.
“Well, I did--then Jehiel and Hannah Jane would ‘a’ come, an’ I could ‘a’ seen ’em.”
The horrified look on the old man’s face gave way to a broad smile.
“Oh, Harriet--Harriet!” he chuckled, “how could ye seen ’em if you was dead?”
“Huh? Well, I--Thaddeus,”--her voice rose sharply in the silent room,-- “every single one of them Perkins boys was there, and Annabel, too. Only think what poor Mis’ Perkins would ‘a’ given ter seen ’em ’fore she went! But they waited--waited, Thaddeus, jest as everybody does, till their folks is dead.”
“But, Harriet,” demurred the old man, “surely you’d ‘a’ had them boys come ter their own mother’s fun’ral!”