They all thought so too.
“I do not criticise,” continued their president, magnanimously, “nor do I complain of any one. Each in this world has his or her mission, and the most sacred is Woman’s own—to console!”
“True, true!” murmured Mrs. Slocum.
“We must do something for the prisoner, to show him we do not desert him in his hour of need,” Mrs. Campbell continued.
“We’ll go and meet the train!” Mrs. Slocum exclaimed, eagerly. “I’ve never seen a real murderer.”
“A bunch of flowers for him,” said Mrs. Parsons, closing her mournful eyes. “Roses.” And she smiled faintly.
“Oh, lilies!” cried little Mrs. Day, with rapture. “Lilies would look real nice.”
“Don’t you think,” said Miss Sissons, who had not spoken before, and sat a little apart from the close-drawn clump of talkers, “that we might send the widow some flowers too, some time?” Miss Sissons was a pretty girl, with neat hair. She was engaged to the captain of Siskiyou’s baseball nine.
“The widow?” Mrs. Campbell looked vague.