"Well, Aunt Ruey, I'll try to remember all," said Mrs. Pennel, as she stood at the glass in her bedroom, carefully adjusting the respectable black silk shawl over her shoulders, and tying her neat bonnet-strings.
"I s'pose," said Aunt Ruey, "that the notice of the funeral'll be gin out after sermon."
"Yes, I think so," said Mrs. Pennel.
"It's another loud call," said Miss Ruey, "and I hope it will turn the young people from their thoughts of dress and vanity,—there's Mary Jane Sanborn was all took up with gettin' feathers and velvet for her fall bonnet. I don't think I shall get no bonnet this year till snow comes. My bonnet's respectable enough,—don't you think so?"
"Certainly, Aunt Ruey, it looks very well."
"Well, I'll have the pork and beans and brown-bread all hot on table agin you come back," said Miss Ruey, "and then after dinner we'll all go down to the funeral together. Mis' Pennel, there's one thing on my mind,—what you goin' to call this 'ere boy?"
"Father and I've been thinkin' that over," said Mrs. Pennel.
"Wouldn't think of giv'n him the Cap'n's name?" said Aunt Ruey.
"He must have a name of his own," said Captain Pennel. "Come here, sonny," he called to the child, who was playing just beside the door.
The child lowered his head, shook down his long black curls, and looked through them as elfishly as a Skye terrier, but showed no inclination to come.