Page:Weeds (1923).pdf/55

 Preparations for the funeral began at once. The children, confused and bewildered, were dazed more than grieved by their mother's death, the full gravity of which they could not realize in the midst of Aunt Abigail's hectic hurry and scurry. There was much to be done. The girls' Sunday dresses of red cotton crêpe must be dyed black, their hair ribbons likewise. Aunt Abigail stood over the boiling dye in the wash boiler and stirred and lifted the goods with two long smooth pieces of broom handle till they were funereal enough to satisfy her. Then she soused and rinsed them through many waters and hung them dripping on the line, three sad little black garments, weeping as it were for their own dismal transformation. Lizzie May went out and looked at them and burst suddenly into loud weeping at the sight of what had so lately been the three pretty little red dresses that their mother had made for them. She could not have told whether it was for the dresses or her mother that she was crying. Then the dresses had to be pressed by Aunt Abigail's swift, capable hands. And the boys' Sunday clothes and Bill's Sunday suit—the one he was married in—had to be aired and pressed also.

"Air you sure yer dad's got a fine white shirt?" asked Aunt Abigail, looking up at Luella from the suit she was pressing.

Luella was washing dishes. She let her hands rest idle in the dishwater for a moment.

"Dad's got a fine shirt," she answered promptly, "but it's stripèd."

"Is the stripes black?"

"I couldn't say fer sure if the stripes is black or navy blue."

"Well, you'd best fetch it here an' let me look at it, Elly, 'cause if the stripes hain't black it won't do fer 'im to wear at his own wife's funeral," opined Aunt Abigail.

Luella wiped off her hands and brought the shirt, which Aunt Abigail, after careful inspection at the window, pronounced to be satisfactory.

"The stripes is black all right. It'll do," she approved, handing it back to Luella, who folded it away again in the drawer.