Captain Forrester's death, which occurred early in December, was
"telegraphic news," the only State news that the discouraged town of
Sweet Water had furnished for a long while. Flowers and telegrams came
from east and west, but it happened that none of the Captain's closest
friends could come to his funeral. Mr. Dalzell was in California, the
president of the Burlington railroad was travelling in Europe. The
others were far away or in uncertain health. Doctor Dennison and Judge
Pommeroy were the only two of his intimates among the pallbearers.
On the morning of the funeral, when the Captain was already in his
coffin, and the undertaker was in the parlour setting up chairs, Niel
heard a knocking at the kitchen door. There he found Adolph Blum,
carrying a large white box.
"Niel," he said, "will you please give these to Mrs. Forrester, and tell
her they are from Rhein and me, for the Captain?"
Adolph was in his old working clothes, the only clothes he had,
probably, with a knitted comforter about his neck. Niel knew he wouldn't
come to the funeral, so he said:
"Won't you come in and see him, 'Dolph? He looks just like himself."
Adolph hesitated, but he caught sight of the undertaker's man, through
the parlour bay-window, and said, "No, thank you, Niel," thrust his red
hands into his jacket pockets, and walked away.
Niel took the flowers out of the box, a great armful of yellow roses,
which must have cost the price of many a dead rabbit. He carried them
upstairs, where Mrs. Forrester was lying down.
"These are from the Blum boys," he said. "Adolph just brought them to
the kitchen door."
Mrs. Forrester looked at them, then turned away her head on the pillow,
her lips trembling. It was the only time that day he saw her pale
composure break.
The funeral was large. Old settlers and farmer folk came from all over
the county to follow the pioneer's body to the grave. As Niel and his
uncle were driving back from the cemetery with Mrs. Forrester, she spoke
for the first time since they had left the house. "Judge Pommeroy," she
said quietly, "I think I will have Mr. Forrester's sun-dial taken over
and put above his grave. I can have an inscription cut on the base. It
seems more appropriate for him than any stone we could buy. And I will
plant some of his own rose-bushes beside it."
When they got back to the house it was four o'clock, and she insisted
upon making tea for them. "I would like it myself, and it is better to
be doing something. Wait for me in the parlour. And, Niel, move the
things back as we always have them."
The grey day was darkening, and as the three sat having their tea in the
bay-window, swift squalls of snow were falling over the wide meadows
between the hill and the town, and the creaking of the big cottonwoods
about the house seemed to say that winter had come.