“Some of the flowers was funny for a graveyard. One of ’em loved sunflowers, an’ when blossomin’-time come, you could see a spot of light in my lot clear from the gate when you went in, an’ on sunny days even from quite a piece outside.
“Geraniums was on the next grave, red an’ pink together, as William loved to see ’em, an’ most fittin’ an’ appropriate. He was a queer-lookin’ man, William was, all bald except for a little fringe of red hair around his head, an’ his bald spot gettin’ as pink as anythin’ when he got mad. I never could abide red an’ pink together, so I did my best not to rile him; but la sakes, my dear, red-haired folks is that touchy that you never can tell what’s goin’ to rile ’em an’ what ain’t. Some innercent little remark is as likely to set ’em off as anythin’ else. All the time it’s like carryin’ a light into a fireworks place. Drop it once an’ the air ’ll be full of sky-rockets, roman candles, pinwheels, an’ set pieces till you’re that dazed you don’t know where you’re livin’. Don’t never take no red-haired one, my dear, if you’re anyways set on peace. I never took but one, but that was enough to set me dead against the breed.
“Well, as I was a-sayin’, James begun to woo me in the cemetery. Whenever you see a man in a cemetery, my dear, you can take it for granted that he’s a new-made widower. After the first week or two, he ain’t got no time to go to no grave, he’s so busy lookin’ out for the next one. When I see James a-waterin’ an’ a-weedin’ on the next lot to mine, therefore, I knowed his sorrer was new, even though the band of crape on his hat was rusty an’ old.
“Bein’ fellow-mourners, in a way, we struck up kind of a melancholy friendship, an’ finally got to borrerin’ water from each other’s sprinklin’ cans an’ exchangin’ flower seeds an’ slips, an’ even hull plants. That old deceiver told me it was his first wife that was a-lyin’ there, an’ showed me her name on the monumint. She was buried in her own folks’ lot, an’ I never knowed till it was too late that his own lot was plum full of wives, an’ this here was a annex, so to speak. I dunno how I come to be so took in, but anyways, when James’s grief had subsided somewhat, we decided to travel on the remainin’ stretch through this vale of tears together.
“He told me he had a beautiful home in Taylorville, but was a-livin’ where he was so ’s to be near the cemetery an’ where he could look after dear Annie’s grave. The sentiment made me think all the more of him, so ’s I didn’t hesitate, an’ was even willin’ to be married with one of my old rings, to save the expense of a new one. James allers was thrifty, an’ the way he put it, it sounded quite reasonable, so ’s that’s how it comes, my dear, that in spite of havin’ had seven husbands, I’ve only got six weddin’-rings.
“I put each one on when its own proper anniversary comes around an’ wear it till the next one, when I change again, though for one of the rings it makes only one day, because the fourth and seventh times I was married so near together. That sounds queer, my dear, but if you think it over, you’ll see what I mean. It’s fortunate, too, in a way, ’cause I found out by accident years afterward that my fourth weddin’-ring come out of a pawn-shop, an’ I never took much joy out of wearin’ it. Bein’ just alike, I wore another one mostly, even when Samuel was alive, but he never noticed. Besides, I reckon ’t wouldn’t make no difference, for a man that’ll go to a pawn-shop for a weddin’-ring ain’t one to make a row about his wife’s changin’ it. When I spoke sharp to him about it, he snickered, an’ said it was appropriate enough, though to this day I’ve never figured out precisely just what the old serpent meant by it.
“Well, as I was sayin’, my dear, the minister married us in good an’ proper form, an’ I must say that, though I’ve had all kinds of ceremonies, I take to the ’Piscopal one the most, in spite of havin’ been brought up Methodis’, an’ hereafter I’ll be married by it if the occasion should arise—an’ we drove over to Taylorville.
“The roads was dretful, but bein’ experienced in marriage, I could see that it wasn’t that that was makin’ James drop the whip, an’ pull back on the lines when he wanted the horses to go faster, an’ not hear things I was a-sayin’ to him. Finally, I says, very distinct: ‘James, dear, how many children did you say you had?’
“‘Eight,’ says he, clearin’ his throat proud and haughty like.
“‘You’re lyin’,’ says I, ‘an’ you know you’re lyin’. You allers told me you had three.’