"I knew an old maid," said the Moon. "Every winter she wore a
wrapper of yellow satin, and it always remained new, and was the
only fashion she followed. In summer she always wore the same straw
hat, and I verily believe the very same gray-blue dress.
"She never went out, except across the street to an old female
friend; and in later years she did not even take this walk, for the
old friend was dead. In her solitude my old maid was always busy at
the window, which was adorned in summer with pretty flowers, and in
winter with cress, grown upon felt. During the last months I saw her
no more at the window, but she was still alive. I knew that, for I had
not yet seen her begin the 'long journey,' of which she often spoke
with her friend. 'Yes, yes,' she was in the habit of saying, when I
come to die I shall take a longer journey than I have made my whole
life long. Our family vault is six miles from here. I shall be carried
there, and shall sleep there among my family and relatives.' Last
night a van stopped at the house. A coffin was carried out, and then I
knew that she was dead. They placed straw round the coffin, and the
van drove away. There slept the quiet old lady, who had not gone out
of her house once for the last year. The van rolled out through the
town-gate as briskly as if it were going for a pleasant excursion.
On the high-road the pace was quicker yet. The coachman looked
nervously round every now and then--I fancy he half expected to see
her sitting on the coffin, in her yellow satin wrapper. And because he
was startled, he foolishly lashed his horses, while he held the
reins so tightly that the poor beasts were in a foam: they were
young and fiery. A hare jumped across the road and startled them,
and they fairly ran away. The old sober maiden, who had for years
and years moved quietly round and round in a dull circle, was now,
in death, rattled over stock and stone on the public highway. The
coffin in its covering of straw tumbled out of the van, and was left
on the high-road, while horses, coachman, and carriage flew past in
wild career. The lark rose up carolling from the field, twittering her
morning lay over the coffin, and presently perched upon it, picking
with her beak at the straw covering, as though she would tear it up.
The lark rose up again, singing gaily, and I withdrew behind the red
morning clouds."