The old man saw him. That rigid face was too set to smile, but with the image of his child’s child on his eyes, the hope of future generations of his blood, he passed away.
A little time was allowed for the wailing that rises around every death-bed. The overtaxed young widow rocked her son against her, while he gazed about him in awe. Aunt Lindy stood by the bedpost, burying her face in her apron. Her son, Hod Miller, a huge creature, very black-eyed, bright-complexioned, and having the appearance of possessing no immortal soul, sat near the foot of the bed, with his legs crossed and his shoulders hung forward, looking respectfully concerned. There were no other near relatives except Jesse Jeffries and his wife, who covered their faces while this elder brother lay in the first dignity of death.
Then a quiet bustle began. Sister McGafferty took Serena Hedding out of the parlor, and made her lie down on the sitting-room straw-tick lounge, and smell camphor. Milty wandered out-of-doors, and was grateful to a neighbor’s boy, forbidden the house and enjoined to watch the horses, who told him, after an exchange of scrutiny, that he dursn’t take a dare which ’ud reach the medder fence first. The men took charge of the body. They closed the parlor doors, and, with basins of water, clean linen, and the new store suit Aunt Lindy’s forethought had ready in the house, performed those solemn rites to which all our flesh must humbly come. One mounted a horse and rode to Millersport for the undertaker. Little Jimmy Holmes, who was a middle-aged man, but had a father known as Old or Big Jimmy, was informed by his wife that he could go home now, and look after the milkin’ and feedin’; she would stay here and tend to things. Into her capable hands Aunt Lindy appeared to resign the house, while Little Jimmy and their son, Little Jimmy’s Jimmy, drove into the pleasant dusk.
After inquiring about the date of the funeral, and detailing watchers for the intervening nights, the other neighbors slowly dispersed in squads. Lights appeared about the house, and the kitchen and cellar yielded up their prepared good things.
Before they reached home the neighbors began to speculate about the disposition of the property. They said Moses Jeffr’s had been a hard worker, and his sister Lindy had been a hard worker, and she had kept his house for more than twenty year: ’twouldn’t be no more than right for him to leave her well off. She had been savin’ with what her man left her, and Hod Miller had done a son’s part by the old man. Money goes to them that lays up. Some said Mr. Jeffr’s had cut off Sereny with a cent in his will. Sereny ought to knowed better than to done as she did. It was a pity, specially as she was left a widow-woman, with a little boy to raise. But when a person makes their bed, they got to lie in it. How tickled Mr. Jeffr’s was when Sereny was a little girl experiencin’ religion! He never thought then she would go and run off. She had a good home, and he would have done well by her.
On the other hand, there was folks-talk among the Serena faction, whose hearts melted toward the girl when she rocked before her father. They said there never would have been any trouble between Moses Jeffr’s and his daughter if Lindy Miller hadn’t managed things. Milt Heddin’ was a good feller, only he hadn’t the knack of gettin’ along. But he could have worked the farm as well as Hod Miller. They wanted Sereny to have her rights. It was a scandal and a shame if that big, able-bodied feller, with land of his own, could turn her off the home place.
Serena wandered about the house, which strangers seemed to possess, crying over familiar objects. She had large violet eyes, and was once considered as pretty a girl as came to meeting, though her lips were too prominent and full. She looked shabby and piteous. Sister McGafferty combed her hair for her, while her trembling, work-worn hands lay in her lap.
“They’ve borried a black bonnet and dress for you, Sister Sereny,” said the elder’s wife, who had been around the circuit when this sorrowful creature was a shy child.
“I might have worn a better dress and bonnet. But when word came, I felt so bad I didn’t think of anything. They didn’t let me know until he was near gone.”
Milty spent his time out-of-doors. He approved of the barn, and did not approve of Aunt Lindy. His mother had said, “Aunt Lindy, this is my boy.”