'All of that,' the other child replied. 'My bar made three thousand, and I wasn't as high as him by a lot.'
'Then that's all right,' said Mary. 'Thank you very much.'
They moved away as Mrs. Grant flung herself weeping on Mary's flat chest, under the lych-gate, and cried, 'I know how it feels! I know how it feels!'
'But both his parents are dead,' Mary returned, as she fended her off. 'Perhaps they've all met by now,' she added vaguely as she escaped towards the coach.
'I've thought of that too,' wailed Mrs. Grant; 'but then he'll be practically a stranger to them. Quite embarrassing!'
Mary faithfully reported every detail of the ceremony to Miss Fowler, who, when she described Mrs. Grant's outburst, laughed aloud.
'Oh, how Wynn would have enjoyed it! He was always utterly unreliable at funerals. D'you remember--' And they talked of him again, each piecing out the other's gaps. 'And now,' said Miss Fowler, 'we'll pull up the blinds and we'll have a general tidy. That always does us good. Have you seen to Wynn's things?'
'Everything--since he first came,' said Mary. 'He was never destructive--even with his toys.'
They faced that neat room.
'It can't be natural not to cry,' Mary said at last. 'I'm so afraid you'll have a reaction.'