Last Respects Since the day was not Sunday, I knew
at once that A. and B. were off to " bury ": someone. They were dressed in black topcoats, and uncomfortable black boots. They had black ties, too, and a solemn air suitable to the occasion. It was a wintry afternoon, and they hurried to the end of the road where a friend waited to give them a lift to the farm or village at which the service was to take place. Later on I saw them returning. They were flushed and inclined. to loiter. Yes, old W. had been laid away with respect, and the minister had been very good. It was sad that W. should go, but we all had to come to it. A. nodded his old head at this and blew his nose. B. fumbled in his coat-pocket and brought out his pipe, and I knew that the lighting of the pipe somehow marked the end of the thing. It might be remembered for a while as " old W.'s funeral, just before Christmas," but it was not healthy for men of advanced years to brood over the passing of a contemporary. Many a man catches a fatal chill at a funeral, and no one knows his time.
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