By this time all the congregation as it came in was interested. Such a stylish stranger would naturally attract attention. She kept her head devoutly bent, and used the handkerchief frequently; we couldn’t see her face. She might have been a peeress-in-waiting, judging by the dignity and decorum of her bearing.
It was just as the Rector was repeating the opening sentences that the resplendent one turned round to see the effect she was making on the congregation, and behold—that Mrs. Price!
I am afraid I only just saved myself from making the time-honoured remark, “_Did_ you EVER!”
“But what I want to know is this,” said Miss Primkins (as several of us walked together along the high road after church, leaving Mrs. Price giving details of the funeral, and the innumerable wreaths, to her friends). “Where did she get those weeds from? There isn’t a widow among us, nor a relative of a widow, so far as I know. Now who gave them to her?”
But we none of us knew. It certainly looked suspiciously as though Mrs. Price had used the poor late Zebadiah as an excuse for dragging the whole county!
I wasn’t surprised that she herself had donned fresh weeds, for as we are remarkably healthy upon these hills, we are apt to make the most of a funeral when it chances our way, and the opportunity to wear mourning, carrying with it, as it does, a certain personal distinction, is not to be passed over lightly.
On one occasion I remember meeting a farmer’s wife on Sunday morning in deep black (that had done duty for several previous family bereavements), weeping into her handkerchief as she went along the road to church. We stopped to inquire about her trouble.
“My poor old mother’s gone at last,” she sobbed. We were truly sorry for her grief, and asked when she had died.
“Well, I ’spect it would be about three or four this morning; that’s the time they usually go. I had a letter last night saying as how they didn’t reckon she’d live the night. So she’ll be gone by now. My poor mother! I’ll never see her again!” and she wept afresh.
I’m glad to say the mother is still alive, and very flourishing.
It was about a fortnight later that Virginia gave me the wildly-exciting information, culled from the local paper, that some Roman remains had just been excavated. I murmured “Oh!” in that absent-minded way people will do when their thoughts are called off the subject of What shall we have for the midday meal? to higher things.