“You will really oblige me very much, Mrs. Hunter,” said the minister—“or Mrs. French, if you can give me any particulars about old Mr. Capen’s life. His family seem to be rather sensitive, and they depend on a long, old-fashioned funeral sermon; and here I am utterly bare of facts.”
“Why, yes,” said Mrs. Hunter. “Of course. Now—”
“Why, yes; everybody knows all about him,” said Mrs. French.
And then they laid their work down and relapsed into meditation.
“Oh!” said Mrs. Hunter in a moment. “No, though—”
“Why, you know,” said Mrs. French—“no, I guess, on the whole—”
“You remember,” said the doctor’s wife to Mrs. French, with a faint smile, “the time he papered my east chamber, don’t you—how he made the pattern come?”
And then they both laughed gently for a moment.
“Well, I have always known him,” said Mrs. French; “but really, being asked so suddenly, it seems to drive everything out of my head.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Hunter, “and it’s odd that I can’t think of exactly the thing just at this minute; but if I do, I will run over to the parsonage this evening.”