"Well," replied Prudy, rather quick for a thought, "my husband had a very small nose!"
Mrs. Piper tried to make more "conversation."
"O, Mrs. Shotwell, you ought to be exceeding thankful you're a widow, and don't keep house! I think my hired girls will carry down my gray hairs to the grave! The last one I had was Irish, and very Catholic."
Prudy groaned for sympathy, and wiped her eyes on that corner of her handkerchief which was supposed to be not quite "cried up."
"Yes, indeed, it was awful," continued Mrs. Piper; "for she wasalways going to masses and mass-meetings; and there couldn't anybody die but they must be 'waked,' you know."
"Why, I didn't know they could be waked up when they was dead," said Prudy, opening her eyes.
"O, but they only make believe you can wake 'em," said Mrs. Piper; "of course it isn't true! For my part, I don't believe a word an Irish girl says, any way."
"Hush, my child," she continued, turning to Dotty, who was now sharpening the silver knife on the edges of the iron grate. "Betsey, why in the world don't you see to that baby? I believe you are losing your mind!"
"That makes me think," said Prudy, suddenly breaking in with a new idea; "what do you s'pose the reason is folks can't be waked up? What makes 'em stay in heaven all the days, and nights, and years, and never come down here to see anybody, not a minute?"
"What an idea!" said Annie. "I'm sure I don't know."