SCENE XII.
_The Village._
LYDDY PETTIGROVE'S FUNERAL.
Lyddy Pettigrove was dead. Not one person, but a dozen, had called in atthe White Farm to announce this fact and look curiously at Samantha AnnRipley to see how she took the news.
To say the truth, the community did not seem to be overpowered by itsbereavement. There seemed to be a general feeling that Mrs. Pettigrovehad never been wanted in Pleasant River, coupled with a mild surprisethat she should have been wanted anywhere else. Speculation was rife asto who would keep house for Dave Milliken, and whether Samantha Annwould bury the Ripley-Milliken battle-axe and go to the funeral, andwhether Mis' Pettigrove had left her property to David, as was right, orto her husband's sister in New Hampshire, which would be a sin and ashame; but jest as likely as not, though she was well off and didn'tneed it no more 'n a toad would a pocket-book, and couldn't bear thesight o' Lyddy besides,--and whether Mr. Pettigrove's first wife'srelations would be asked to the funeral, bein' as how they hadn't spokefor years, 'n' wouldn't set on the same side the meetin'-house, but whenyou come to that, if only the folks that was on good terms with LyddyPettigrove was asked to the funeral, there'd be a slim attendance,and--so on.
Aunt Hitty was the most important person in the village on theseoccasions. It was she who assisted in the last solemn preparations andtook the last solemn stitches; and when all was done, and she hung herlittle reticule on her arm, and started to walk from the house ofbereavement to her own home (where "Si" was anxiously awaiting hisnightly draught of gossip), no royal herald could have been looked forwith greater interest or greeted with greater cordiality. All thehousewives that lived on the direct road were on their doorsteps, so asnot to lose a moment, and all that lived off the road had seen her fromthe upstairs windows, and were at the gate to waylay her as she passed.At such a moment Aunt Hitty's bosom swelled with honest pride, and shehumbly thanked her Maker that she had been bred to the use of scissorsand needle.
Two days of this intoxicating popularity had just passed; the funeralwas over, and she ran in to the White Farm on her way home, to carry amessage, and to see with her own eyes how Samantha Ann Ripley wascomporting herself.
"You didn't git out to the fun'ral, did ye, Samanthy?" she asked, as sheseated herself cosily by the kitchen window.
"No, I didn't. I never could see the propriety o' goin' to see folksdead that you never went to see alive."
"How you talk! That's one way o' puttin' it! Well, everybody was lookin'for you, and you missed a very pleasant fun'ral. David 'n' I arrangedeverything as neat as wax, and it all went off like clock-work, if I dosay so as shouldn't. Mis' Pettigrove made a beautiful remains."
"I'm glad to hear it. It's the first beautiful thing she ever did make,I guess!"
"How you talk! Ain't you a leetle hard on Lyddy, Samanthy? She warn'tsech a bad neighbor, and she couldn't help bein' kind o' sour like. Shewas born with her teeth on aidge, to begin with, and then she'd benthrough seas o' trouble with them Pettigroves."
"Like enough; but even if folks has ben through seas o' trouble, theyneedn't be everlastin'ly spittin' up salt brine. 'Passin' through thevalley of sorrow they make it full o' fountings;' that's what the Psalmssays 'bout bearin' trouble."
"Lyddy warn't much on fountings," said Aunt Hitty contemplatively; "but,there, we hadn't ought to speak nothin' but good o' the dead. Landsakes! You'd oughter heard Elder Weekses remarks; they was splendid. Weain't hed better remarks to any fun'ral here for years. I shouldn't 'a'suspicioned he was preachin' 'bout Lyddy, though. Our minister's sickabed, you know, 'n' warn't able to conduct the ex'cises. Si thinks hewent to bed a-purpose, but I wouldn't hev it repeated; so David gotElder Weeks from Moderation. He warn't much acquainted with the remains,but he done all the better for that. He's got a wond'ful faculty forfun'rals. They say he's sent for for miles around. He'd just come froma fun'ral nine miles the other side o' Moderation, up on the Blueb'ryroad; so he was a leetle mite late, 'n' David 'n' I was as nervous aswitches, for every room was cram full 'n' the thermometer stood at 87 inthe front entry, 'n' the bearers sot out there by the well-curb, withthe sun beatin' down on 'em, 'n' two of 'em, Squire Hicks 'n' DeaconDunn, was fast asleep. Inside, everything was as silent 's the tomb,'cept the kitchen clock, 'n' that ticked loud enough to wake the deadmost. I thought I should go inter conniptions. I set out to git up 'n'throw a shawl over it, it ticked so loud. Then, while we was all settin'there 's solemn 's the last trump, what does old Aunt Beccy Burnham dobut git up from the kitchen corner where she sot, take the corn-broomfrom behind the door, and sweep down a cobweb that was lodged up in oneo' the corners over the mantelpiece! We all looked at one 'nother, 'n' Ithought for a second somebody 'd laugh, but nobody dassed, 'n' therewarn't a sound in the room 's Aunt Beccy sot down agin' without movin' amuscle in her face. Just then the minister drove in the yard with hishorse sweatin' like rain; but behind time as he was, he never slightedthings a mite. His prayer was twenty-three minutes by the clock.Twenty-three minutes is a leetle mite too long this kind o' weather, butit was an all-embracin' prayer, 'n' no mistake! Si said when he gotthrough the Lord had his instructions on most any p'int that was likelyto come up durin' the season. When he got through his remarks therewarn't a dry eye in the room. I don't s'pose it made any odds whether hewas preachin' 'bout Mis' Pettigrove or the woman on the Blueb'ryroad,--it was a movin', elevatin' discourse, 'n' that was what we wentthere for."
"It wouldn't 'a' ben so elevatin' if he'd told the truth," saidSamantha; "but, there, I ain't goin' to spit no more spite out. LyddyPettigrove's dead, 'n' I hope she's in heaven, and all I can say is,that she'll be dretful busy up there ondoin' all she done down here. Yousay there was a good many out?"
"Yes; we ain't hed so many out for years, so Susanna Rideout says, andshe'd ought to know, for she ain't missed a fun'ral sence she was nineyears old, and she's eighty-one, come Thanksgivin', ef she holds outthat long. She says fun'rals is 'bout the only recreation she has, 'n'she doos git a heap o' satisfaction out of 'em, 'n' no mistake. She'llgo early, afore any o' the comp'ny assembles. She'll say her clock must'a' ben fast, 'n' then they'll ask her to set down 'n' make herself tohome. Then she'll choose her seat accordin' to the way the house isplanned. She won't git too fur from the remains, because she'll want tosee how the fam'ly appear when they take their last look, but she'llwant to git opposite a door, where she can look into the other rooms 'n'see whether they shed any tears when the minister begins his remarks.She allers takes a little gum camphire in her pocket, so't if anybodyfaints away durin' the long prayer, she's right on hand. Bein' near thedoor, she can hear all the minister says, 'n' how the order o' themourners is called, 'n' ef she ain't too fur from the front winders shecan hev a good view of the bearers and the mourners as they get into thekerridges. There's a sight in knowin' how to manage at a fun'ral; ittakes faculty, same as anything else."
"How does David bear up?" asked Miss Vilda.
"Oh, he's calm. David was always calm and resigned, you know. He shedtears durin' the remarks, but I s'pose, mebbe, he was wishin' they wasmore appropriate. He's about the forlornest creeter now you ever see' inyour life. There never was any self-assume to David Milliken. I declareit's enough to make you cry jest to look at him. I cooked up victualsenough to last him a week, but that ain't no way for men-folks to live.When he comes in at noon-time he washes up out by the pump, 'n' then hesteps int' the butt'ry 'n' pours some cold tea out the teapot 'n' takesa drink of it, 'n' then a bite o' cold punkin pie 'n' then more tea, allthe time stan'in' up to the shelf 'stid o' sittin' down like aChristian, and lookin' out the winder as if his mind was in HardScrabble 'n' his body in Buttertown, 'n' as if he didn't know whether hewas eatin' pie or putty. Land! I can't bear to watch him. I dassay hemisses Lyddy's jawin',--it must seem dretful quiet. I declare it seemsto me that meek, resigned folks, that's too good to squeal out whenthey're abused, is allers the ones that gits the hardest knocks; but Idon't doubt but what there's goin' to be an everlas
tin' evenupnesssomewheres."
Samantha got up suddenly and went to the sink window. "It's 'bout timethe men come in for their dinner," she said. But though Jabe was mowingthe millstone hill, and though he wore a red flannel shirt, she couldnot see him because of the tears that blinded her eyes.