“What of it?” snapped Miss Clergy.
“It means that ‘Saturday’s child must work for a living’ and Thurley said, ‘That’s me—Saturday.’ And ‘Sunday’s child is full of grace,’ and certainly Philena was, and ‘Monday’s child is fair of face,’ and nobody would ever want to see a prettier child than Lorraine was—or is—”
“Never mind her! Go on about Thurley,” Hopeful was ordered.
“It was the next month Philena died, and Betsey spent half she had in the bank to bury her the way she thought she’d like—a lavender coffin with quilted satin and she wore her graduating dress and a jet hair ornament that Thurley give her and Thurley sang at the funeral and never broke down onct! Some say Thurley Precore never loved no one, but I know she loved Philena, and since then she stayed on at Betsey’s and earned money singin’ and teachin’ piano and it seems as if she couldn’t put her mind on nothin’ else ... I dunno—”
“Who’s the—boy?” There was a rasping tone in her voice. “The boy she is engaged to marry?”
“Why, Dan Birge—”
“Birge—” memories stirred in the numbed brain.
“Grandson of the one you knew, Miss Abby. Dearie me, you’ve lost count of years!” Hopeful shook her head.
“Will she be fool enough to marry him?” Miss Clergy insisted.
“He’ll marry no one else, I guess. Seems as if he’s always cared for her and she’s made a man of him, too.”