And though I don’t believe a word on it, and though I know it wuz made
sense that time, and hain’t nigh so old, I can’t turn my companion’s
mind round the wedth of a horse-hair.
He will go down to the grave a-thinkin’ that that wuz George
Washington’s potash-kettle, and them mended-up places he found in it wuz
made by the hired man a-kickin’ at it when he was mad at George.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_Abel Perry’s Funeral._
----------
JOSIAH ALLEN and me had visitors, along the last of the winter,—Abel
Perry’ses folks from ’way out beyond Loontown.
They come in good sperits and the mornin’ train, and spent three days
and three nights with us.
You see, they wuz relations of ourn, and had been for some time,
entirely onbeknown to us, and they come a-huntin’ us up. They said “they
thought relations ort to be hunted up, and hang together.” They said
“the idee of huntin’ us up had come to ’em after readin’ my book.”
They told me so, and I said, “Wall.”
I didn’t add nor demenish to that one “Wall.” For I didn’t want to act
too backward, nor too forward. I jest kep’ kinder neutral, and said,
“Wall.”
You see, Abel’s father’s sister-in-law wuz step-mother to my aunt’s
second-cousin on her father’s side. And Abel said that “he had felt more
and more, as years went by, that it wuz a burnin’ shame for relations to
not know and love each other.” He said “he felt that he loved Josiah and
me dearly.”
I didn’t say right out whether it wuz reciprokated or not. I kinder
said, “Wall,” ag’in.
And I told Josiah, in perfect confidence and the wood-house chamber,
“that I had seen nearer relations than Mr. Perry’ses folks wuz to us.”
Howsumever, I done well by ’em. Josiah killed a fat turkey, and I baked
it, and done other things for their comfort, and we had quite a good
time.
Abel wuz ruther flowery and enthusiastick, and his mouth and voice wuz
ruther large, but he meant well, I should judge, and we had quite a good
time.
She wuz very freckled, and a second-day Baptist by perswasion, and was
piecin’ up a crazy bedquilt. She went a-visitin’ a good deal, and got
pieces of the wimmen’s dresses where she visited for blocks. So it wuz
quite a savin’ bedquilt, and very good-lookin’, considerin’.
[Illustration: “Josiah killed a fat turkey.”]
But to resoom and continue on. Abel’s folks made us promise on our two
sacred honors, Josiah’s honor and mine, that we would pay back the
visit, for, as Abel said, “for relatives to live so clost to each other,
and not visit back and forth, wuz a burnin’ shame and a disgrace.” And
Josiah promised that we would go right away after sugarin’.
We wouldn’t promise on the New Testament, as Abel wanted us to (he is
dretful enthusiastick); but we gin good plain promises that we would go,
and laid out to keep our two words.
So along a week or so after sugarin’, Josiah beset me one day to go over
to Mr. Perry’ses.
Josiah liked Abel; there wuz sunthin’ in his intense enthusiastick
nature and extravagant methods that wuz congenial to Josiah.
So I bein’ agreeable to the idee, we set out after dinner, a-layin’ out
to be gone two nights and one hull day, and two parts of days, a-goin’
and a-comin’ back.
Wall, we got there onexpected, as they had come onto us. And we found
’em plunged into trouble.
Their only child, a girl, who had married a young lawyer of Loontown,
had jest lost her husband with the typus, and they wuz a-makin’
preparations for the funeral when we got there. She and her husband had
come home on a visit, and he wuz took down bed-sick there and died.
I told ’em I felt like death to think I had descended down onto ’em at
such a time.
But Abel said he wuz jest despatchin’ a messenger for us when we arrove,
for, he said, “in a time of trouble, then wuz the time, if ever, that a
man wanted his near relations clost to him.”
And he said “we had took a load offen him by appearin’ jest as we did,
for there would have been some delay in gettin’ us there, if the
messenger had been despatched.”
He said “that mornin’ he had felt so bad that he wanted to die,—it
seemed as if there wuzn’t nothin’ left for him to live for; but now he
felt that he had sunthin’ to live for, now his relatives wuz gethered
round him.”
Josiah shed tears to hear Abel go on. I myself didn’t weep none, but I
wuz glad if we could be any comfort to ’em, and told ’em so.
And I told Sally Ann, that wuz Abel’ses wife, that I would do anything
that I could to help ’em.
And she said “everything wuz a-bein’ done that wuz necessary. She didn’t
know of but one thing that wuz likely to be overlooked and neglected,
and that wuz the crazy bedquilt.” She said “she would love to have that
finished, to throw over a lounge in the settin’-room, that wuz frayed
out on the edges. And if I felt like it, it _would_ be a great relief to
her to have me take it right offen her hands, and finish it.”
So I took out my thimble and needle (I always carry such necessaries
with me, in a huzzy made expressly for that purpose), and I sot down and
went to piecin’ up. There wuz seventeen blocks to piece up, each one
crazy as a loon to look at, and it wuz all to set together.
She had the pieces, for she had been off on a visitin’ tower the week
before, and collected of ’em.
So I sot in quiet and the big cheer in the settin’-room, and pieced up,
and see the preparations a-goin’ on round us.
I found that Abel’ses folks lived in a house big and showy-lookin’, but
not so solid and firm as I had seen.
It wuz one of the houses, outside and inside, where more pains had been
took with the porticos and ornaments than with the underpinnin’.
It had a showy and kind of a shaky look. And I found that that extended
to Abel’ses business arraingments. Amongst the other ornaments of his
buildin’s wuz mortgages, quite a lot of ’em, and of almost every
variety. He had gin his only child S. Annie (she wuz named after her
mother Sally Ann, but wrote it this way),—he had gin S. Annie a showy
education, a showy weddin’, and a showy settin’-out. But she had had the
good luck to marry a sensible man, though poor.
He took S. Annie, and the brackets, and piano, and hangin’ lamps, and
baskets, and crystal bead lambrequins, her father had gin her, moved ’em
all into a good sensible small house, and went to work to get a practice
and a livin’. He wuz a lawyer by perswasion.
Wall, he worked hard, day and night, for three little children come to
’em pretty fast, and S. Annie consumed a good deal in trimmin’s and
cheap lace to ornament ’em: she wuz her father’s own girl for ornament.
But he worked so hard, and had so many irons in the fire, and kep ’em
all so hot, that he got a good livin’ for ’em, and begun to lay up money
towards byin’ ’em a house, a home.
[Illustration: “A lawyer by perswasion.”]
He talked a sight, so folks said that knew him well, about his consumin’
desire and aim to get his wife and children into a little home of their
own, into a safe little haven, where they could be a little sheltered
from the storms of life if the big waves should wash him away. They say
that that wuz on his mind day and night, and wuz what nerved his hand so
in the fray, and made him so successful.
Wall, he had laid up about nine hundred dollars towards a home, every
dollar on it earned by hard work and consecrated by this deathless hope
and affection. The house he had got his mind on only cost about a
thousand dollars. Loontown property is cheap.
Wall, he had laid up nine hundred, and wuz a-beginnin’ to save on the
last hundred, for he wouldn’t run in debt a cent anyway, when he wuz
took voyalent sick there to Abel’ses: he and S. Annie had come home for
a visit of a day or two; and he bein’ so run down, and weak with his
hard day work, and his night work, that he suckumbed to his sickness,
and passed away the day before I got there.
Wall, S. Annie wuz jest overcome with grief the day I got there, but the
day follerin’ she begun to take some interest, and help her father in
makin’ preparations for the funeral.
The body wuz embalmed, accordin’ to Abel’ses and S. Annie’s wish, and
the funeral wuz to be on the Sunday follerin’, and on that Abel and S.
Annie now bent their energies.
To begin with, S. Annie had a hull suit of clear crape made for herself,
with a veil that touched the ground; she also had three other suits
commenced, for more common wear, trimmed heavy with crape, one of which
she ordered for sure the next week, for she said “she couldn’t stir out
of the house in any other color but black.”
I knew jest how dear crape wuz, and I tackled her on the subject, and
says I,—
“Do you know, S. Annie, those dresses of yourn will cost a sight?”
“Cost?” says she, a-bustin’ out a-cryin’. “What do I care about cost? I
will do everything I can to respect his memory. I do it in remembrance
of him.”
Says I, gently, “S. Annie, you wouldn’t forget him if you wuz dressed in
white. And as for respect, such a life as his, from all I hear of it,
don’t need crape to throw respect on it: it commands respect, and gets
it from everybody.”
“But,” says Abel, “it would look dretful odd to the neighbors if she
didn’t dress in black.” Says he, in a skairful tone, and in his intense
way,—
“I would ruther resk my life than to have her fail in duty in this way:
it would make talk!” And says he, “What is life worth when folks talk?”
I turned around the crazed block, and tackled it in a new place (more
luny than ever it seemed to me), and says I, mekanickly,—
“It is pretty hard work to keep folks from talkin’, to keep ’em from
sayin’ sunthin’.”
But I see from their looks it wouldn’t do to say anything more, so I had
to set still and see it go on.
At that time of year flowers wuz dretful high, but S. Annie and Abel had
made up their minds that they must have several flower-pieces from the
city nighest to Loontown.
One wuz goin’ to be a gate ajar, and one wuz to be a gate wide open. And
one wuz to be a big book. Abel asked me what book I thought would be
prefferable to represent. And I mentioned the Bible.
But Abel says, “No, he didn’t think he would have a Bible; he didn’t
think it would be appropriate, seein’ the deceased wuz a lawyer.” He
said “he hadn’t quite made up his mind what book to have. But anyway it
wuz to be in flowers,—beautiful flowers.” Another piece wuz to be his
name in white flowers on a purple background of pansies. His name wuz
William Henry Harrison Rockyfeller. And I says to Abel,—
“To save expense, you will probable have the moneygram W. H. H. R.?”
“Oh, no,” says he.
Says I, “Then the initials of his given names, and the last name in
full.”
“Oh, no,” he said; “it wuz S. Annie’s wish, and hisen, that the hull
name should be put on. They thought it would show more respect.”
I says, “Where Harrison is now, that hain’t a-goin’ to make any
difference;” and, says I, “Abel, flowers are dretful high this time of
year, and it is a long name.”
But Abel said ag’in that he didn’t care for expense, so long as respect
wuz done to the memory of the deceased. He said that he and S. Annie
both felt that it wuz their wish to have the funeral go ahead of any
other that had ever took place in Loontown or Jonesville. He said that
S. Annie felt that it wuz all that wuz left her now in life, the memory
of such a funeral as he deserved.
Says I, “There is his children left for her to live for,” says I,—“three
little bits of his own life, for her to nourish, and cherish, and look
out for.”
“Yes,” says Abel. “And she will do that nobly, and I will help her. They
are all goin’ to the funeral, too, in deep-black dresses.” He said “they
wuz too little to realize it now, but in later and maturer years it
would be a comfort to ’em to know they had took part in such a funeral
as that wuz goin’ to be, and wuz dressed in black.”
“Wall,” says I (in a quite onassumin’ way I would gin little hints of my
mind on the subject), “I am afraid that will be about all the comforts
of life the poor little children will ever have,” says I. “It will if
you buy many more flower-pieces and crape dresses.”
Abel said “it wouldn’t take much crape for the children’s dresses, they
wuz so little, only the baby’s: that would have to be long.”
Says I, “The baby would look better in white, and it will take sights of
crape for a long baby dress.”
“Yes, but S. Annie can use it afterwards for veils. She is very
economical; she takes it from me. And she feels jest as I do, that the
baby must wear it in respect to her father’s memory.”
Says I, “The baby don’t know crape from a clothes-pin.”
“No,” says Abel, “but in after-years the thought of the respect she
showed will sustain her.”
“Wall,” says I, “I guess she won’t have much besides thoughts to live
on, if things go on in this way.”
I would give little hints in this way, but they wuzn’t took. Things went
right on as if I hadn’t spoke. And I couldn’t contend, for truly, as a
bad little boy said once on a similar occasion, “it wuzn’t my funeral,”
so I had to set and work on that insane bedquilt and see it go on. But I
sithed constant and frequent, and when I wuz all alone in the room I
indulged in a few low groans.
Two dress-makers wuz in the house, to stay all the time till the dresses
wuz done; and clerks would come around, if not oftener, with packages of
mournin’ goods and mournin’ jewelry, and mournin’ handkerchiefs, and
mournin’ stockin’s, and mournin’ stockin’-supporters, and mournin’
safety-pins, and etc., etc., etc., etc., etc.
Every one of ’em, I knew, a-wrenchin’ boards offen the sides of that
house that Harrison had worked so hard to get for his wife and little
ones.
Wall, the day of the funeral come. It wuz a wet, drizzly day, but Abel
wuz up early, to see that everything wuz as he wanted it to be.
As far as I wuz concerned, I had done my duty, for the crazy bedquilt
wuz done; and though brains might totter as they looked at it, I felt
that it wuzn’t my fault. Sally Ann spread it out with complacency over
the lounge, and thanked me, with tears in her eyes, for my noble deed.
Along quite early in the mornin’, before the show commenced, I went in
to see Harrison.
He lay there calm and peaceful, with a look on his face as if he had got
away, at last from a atmosphere of show and sham, and had got into the
great Reality of life.
[Illustration: “Alone, and lonesome as a dog.”]
It wuz a good face, and the worryment and care that folks told me had
been on it for years had all faded away. But the look of determination,
and resolve, and bravery,—that wuz ploughed too deep in his face to be
smoothed out, even by the mighty hand that had lain on it. The resolved
look, the brave look with which he had met the warfare of life, toiled
for victory over want, toiled to place his dear and helpless ones in a
position of safety,—that look wuz on his face yet, as if the deathless
hope and endeavor had gone on into eternity with him.
And by the side of him, on a table, wuz the big high flower-pieces,
beginnin’ already to wilt and decay.
Wall, it’s bein’ such a oncommon bad day, there wuzn’t many to the
funeral. But we rode to the meetin’-house in Loontown in a state and
splendor that I never expect to ag’in. Abel had hired eleven
mournin’-coaches, and the day bein’ so bad, and so few a-turnin’ out to
the funeral, that in order to occupy all the coaches, and Abel thought
it would look better and more popular to have ’em all occupied, we
divided up, and Josiah went in one, alone, and lonesome as a dog, as he
said, afterwards to me. And I sot up straight and uncomfortable in
another one of ’em, stark alone.
Abel had one to himself, and his wife another one, and two old maids,
sisters of Abel’ses who always made a point of attendin’ funerals, they
each one of ’em had one. S. Annie and her children of course had the
first one, and then the minister had one, and one of the trustees in the
neighborhood had another: so we lengthened out into quite a crowd, all
a-follerin’ the shiny hearse, and the casket all covered with showy
plated nails. I thought of it in jest that way, for Harrison, I knew,
the real Harrison, wuzn’t there. No, he wuz far away,—as far as the Real
is from the Unreal.
Wall, we filed into the Loontown meetin’-house in pretty good shape,
though Abel hadn’t no black handkerchief, and he looked worried about
it. He had shed tears a-tellin’ me about it, what a oversight it wuz,
while I wuz a-fixin’ on his mournin’ weed. He took it into his head to
have a deeper weed at the last minute, so I fixed it on. He had the weed
come up to the top of his hat and lap over. I never see so tall a weed.
But it suited Abel; he said “he thought it showed deep respect.”
“Wall,” says I, “it is a deep weed, anyway,—the deepest I ever see.” And
he said, as I wuz a-sewin’ it on, he a-holdin’ his hat for me, “that
Harrison deserved it; he deserved it all.”
But, as I say, he shed tears to think that his handkerchief wuzn’t
black-bordered. He said “it wuz a fearful oversight; it would probably
make talk.”
But I says, “Mebby it won’t be noticed.”
“Yes, it will,” says he. “It will be noticed.” And says he, “I don’t
care about myself, but I am afraid it will reflect onto Harrison. I am
afraid they will think it shows a lack of respect for him. For
Harrison’s sake I feel cut down about it.”
And I says, “I guess where Harrison is now, the color of a
handkerchief-border hain’t a-goin’ to make much difference to him either
way.”
And I don’t s’pose it wuz noticed much, for there wuzn’t more’n ten or a
dozen folks there when we went in. We went in in Injin file mostly, by
Abel’ses request, so’s to make more show. And as a procession we wuz
middlin’ long, but ruther thin.
The sermon was not so very good as to quality, but abundant as to
quantity. It wuz, as nigh as I could calkerlate, about a hour and
three-quarters long. Josiah whispered to me along about the last that
“we had been there over seven hours, and his legs wuz paralyzed.”
And I whispered back that “seven hours would take us into the night, and
to stretch his feet out and pinch ’em;” which he did.
But it wuz long and tejus. My feet got to sleep twice, and I had hard
work to wake ’em up ag’in. The sermon meant to be about Harrison, I
s’pose; he did talk a sight about him, and then he kinder branched off
onto politics, and then the Inter-State bill; he kinder favored it, I
thought.
Wall, we all got drippin’ wet a-goin’ home, for Abel insisted on our
gettin’ out at the grave, for he had hired some oncommon high singers
(high every way, in price and in notes) to sing at the grave.
And so we disembarked in the drippin’ rain, on the wet grass, and formed
a procession ag’in. And Abel had a long exercise right there in the
rain. But the singin’ wuz kinder jerky, and cur’us, and they had got
their pay beforehand, so they hurried it through. And one man, the
tenor, who wuz dretful afraid of takin’ cold, hurried through his part,
and got through first, and started on a run for the carriage. The others
stood their grounds till the piece wuz finished, but they put in some
dretful cur’us quavers. I believe they had had chills: it sounded like
it.
[Illustration: “Abel and S. Annie selected one.”]
Take it altogether, I don’t believe anybody got much satisfaction out of
it, only Abel. S. Annie sp’ilt her dress and bonnet entirely—they wuz
wilted all down; and she ordered another suit jest like it before she
slept.
Wall, the next mornin’ early two men come with plans for monuments. Abel
had telegrafted to ’em to come with plans and bid for the job of
furnishin’ the monument.
And after a good deal of talk on both sides, Abel and S. Annie selected
one that wuz very high and p’inted.