Reverently they got a basket of ashes from each of those now hallowed spots, and carried them home to consult as to the best manner of forwarding them to England, and also to give them an opportunity to “lie in state,”—a mark of respect which the colonel deemed obligatory, considering the high rank of the deceased.
They set the baskets on the table in what was formerly the library, drawing-room and workshop—now the Hall of Audience—and went up stairs to the lumber room to see if they could find a British flag to use as a part of the outfit proper to the lying in state. A moment later, Lady Rossmore came in from the street and caught sight of the baskets just as old Jinny crossed her field of vision. She quite lost her patience and said:
“Well, what will you do next? What in the world possessed you to clutter up the parlor table with these baskets of ashes?”
“Ashes?” And she came to look. She put up her hands in pathetic astonishment. “Well, I never see de like!”
“Didn’t you do it?”
“Who, me? Clah to goodness it’s de fust time I’ve sot eyes on ’em, Miss Polly. Dat’s Dan’l. Dat ole moke is losin’ his mine.”
But it wasn’t Dan’l, for he was called, and denied it.
“Dey ain’t no way to ’splain dat. Wen hit’s one er dese-yer common ’currences, a body kin reckon maybe de cat—”