of
mourning coaches. Mutes should be everywhere and as many relatives as
could be routed out within the time. Black silks and satins, jet and
crape and somber stuffs should oppress the air, and Death with darkling
wings should overshadow Islington. Many mourners were gathered together
whose personalities had never played any part in Jenny's life; but
others arrived who had in the past helped her development.

Mrs. Purkiss came, escorted by Claude Purkiss representing with pale
face and yellow silky mustache the smugness of himself and Percy the
missionary. Claude's majority would occur in May, when he would be
admitted to a partnership in the business. Already a bravery of gold
paint, symbolizing his gilt-edged existence, was at work adding "And
Son" to "William Purkiss." Uncle James Threadgale made the journey from
Galton, bringing with him Mrs. Threadgale the second--a cheerful country
body who pressed an invitation upon Jenny and May to visit them. Uncle
James did not seem to have altered much, and brought up with him a roll
of fine black cloth for Jenny, but was so much upset on realizing he
had omitted May from his thoughtfulness that immediately upon his
arrival he slipped out to buy a similar roll for her. The two lodgers
were present as a mark of respect to the dead woman who had been so
admirable a landlady; and both of them, with kindly tact, announced they
were going away for a few days. Alfie, of course, was there with his
fiancee, whom Jenny somewhat grudgingly admitted to be very smart. Edie
came with the children and her husband. His arrival caused a slight
unpleasantness, because Alfie said he would rather not go at all to the
funeral than ride with Edie and Bert. But in the end a compromise was
effected by which he and his Amy occupied a coach alone. After these
mourners came a cortege of friends and cousins, all conspicuously black,
all intent to pay their homage of gloom.

Jenny, when she had made herself ready, sat on the end of the bed and
laughed.

"I can't help it, May. I know it's wicked of me. But I can't keep from
laughing, I can't really."

"Well, don't let any of them downstairs hear you," begged May, "because
_they_ wouldn't understand."

"It doesn't mean I'm not sorry about mother because I laugh. And I
believe she'd be the first to understand. Oh, May, what a tale she'd
have made of it, if she'd only been alive to see her own funeral. She'd
have kept anyone in fits of laughter for a