Guess she'll be thankful
she's got somebody to call on now, if she 'ain't mixed much with the
Loomises." Then they wondered when the funeral would be, and the
women furbished up their black gowns and bonnets, and even in a few
cases drove to the next town and borrowed from relatives; but there
was a great disappointment in store for them.
Evelina Adams died on a Saturday. The next day it was announced from
the pulpit that the funeral would be private, by the particular
request of the deceased. Evelina Adams had carried her delicate
seclusion beyond death, to the very borders of the grave. Nobody,
outside the family, was bidden to the funeral, except the doctor, the
minister, and the two deacons of the church. They were to be the
bearers. The burial also was to be private, in the Squire's family
burial-lot, at the north of the house. The bearers would carry the
coffin across the yard, and there would not only be no funeral, but
no funeral procession, and no hearse. "It don't seem scarcely
decent," the women whispered to each other; "and more than all that,
she ain't goin' to be _seen_." The deacons' wives were especially
disturbed by this last, as they might otherwise have gained many
interesting particulars by proxy.
Monday was the day set for the burial. Early in the morning old
Thomas Merriam walked feebly up the road to the Squire's house.
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