I haven't," Maw spoke dryly. "I don't go nowheres, as you
know--not even church."

"I s'pose not. Time was it was different, though, Delia. Ain't nobody
but talks how bad off you are. Ann Chester said she seen you in town a
while back and wouldn't of knowed it was you if it hadn't of b'en you
was wearin' my old brown cape, an' she reconnized it. Her an' me got 'em
both alike to the same store in Rockville. You was so changed, she said
she couldn't hardly believe it was you at all."

"Sometimes I wonder myself if it is," said Maw grimly.

"Well, 's I was sayin', it was a grand funeral. None better! They even
had engraved invites, over a hundred printed--and they had folks from
all over the state. They give Clem, here, the contract fur the supper
meat--"

"The best of everything!" Uncle Clem broke in. "None o' your cheap
graft. Gimme a free hand. Jim Bisbee tole me himself. 'I want the best
ye got,' he sez; an' I give it. Spring lamb and prime ribs, fancy hotel
style--"

"An' Em Carson baked the cakes fur 'em, sixteen of 'em; an' Dickison the
undertaker's tellin' all over they got the best quality shroud he
carries. Well, you'll find it all in the _Biweekly_, under Death's Busy
Sickle. Jim Bisbee shore set a store by Matty oncet she was dead. It was
a grand affair, Delia. Not but what we've had some good ones in our time
too."

It was Aunt Mollie's turn to stare pridefully at the Peel plate on the
chimney shelf.

"A thing like that sets a family up, sorta."

Uncle Clem had taken out a fat black cigar with a red-white-and-blue
band. He bit off the end and alternately thrust it between his lips or
felt of its thickness with a fondling thumb and finger. Luke, watching,
felt a sudden compassion for the cigar. It looked so harried.

"I always say," Aunt Mollie droned on, "a person shows up what he really
is at the last--what him and his family stands fur. It's what kind of a
funeral you've got that counts--who comes out an' all. An' that was
true with Matty. There wa'n't a soul worth namin' that wasn't out to
hers."

How Aunt Molly could gouge--even amicably! And funerals! What a subject,
even in a countryside where a funeral is a social event and the manner
of its furniture marks a definite social status! Would they never go?
But it seemed at last they would. Incredibly, somehow, they were taking
their leave, Aunt Mollie kissing Maw good-by, with the usual remark
about "hopin' the things would help some," and abo