'd put down my veil if I were you," said the neighbor woman. And
reached up for the black folds that draped Fanny's hat. Fanny's fingers
reached for them too, fumblingly. "I'd forgotten about it," she said.
The heavy crape fell about her shoulders, mercifully hiding the swollen,
discolored face. She went down the stairs. There was a little stir,
a swaying toward her, a sibilant murmur of sympathy from the crowded
sitting-room as she passed through to the parlor where Rabbi Thalmann
stood waiting, prayer book in hand, in front of that which was covered
with flowers. Fanny sat down. A feeling of unreality was strong upon
her. Doctor Thalmann cleared his throat and opened the book.

After all, it was not Rabbi Thalmann's funeral sermon that testified to
Mrs. Brandeis's standing in the community. It was the character of the
gathering that listened to what he had to say. Each had his own opinion
of Molly Brandeis, and needed no final eulogy to confirm it. Father
Fitzpatrick was there, tall, handsome, ruddy, the two wings of white
showing at the temples making him look more than ever like a leading
man. He had been of those who had sat in what he called Mrs. Brandeis's
confessional, there in the quiet little store. The two had talked of
things theological and things earthy. His wit, quick though it was, was
no match for hers, but they both had a humor sense and a drama sense,
and one day they discovered, queerly enough, that they worshiped the
same God. Any one of these things is basis enough for a friendship.
Besides, Molly Brandeis could tell an Irish story inimitably. And you
should have heard Father Fitzpatrick do the one about Ikey and the
nickel. No, I think the Catholic priest, seeming to listen with such
respectful attention, really heard very little of what Rabbi Thalmann
had to say.

Herman Walthers was there, he of the First National Bank of Winnebago,
whose visits had once brought such terror to Molly Brandeis. Augustus G.
Gerretson was there, and three of his department heads. Emil Bauer sat
just behind him. In a corner was Sadie, the erstwhile coquette, very
subdued now, and months behind the fashions in everything but baby
clothes. Hen Cody, who had done all of Molly Brandeis's draying, sat,
in unaccustomed black, next to Mayor A. J. Dawes. Temple Emmanu-el
was there, almost a unit. The officers of Temple Emanu-el Ladies' Aid
Society sat in a row. They had never honored Molly Brandeis with office
in the societ