"Not but what Jenny didn't
tend to Arthur as though he'd come all proper at de end of de first year--
like Jenny herself." Thanks to Miss Florence, the child had been buried
with a pomp which, in Mrs. Madehurst's opinion, more than covered the
small irregularity of its birth. She described the coffin, within and
without, the glass hearse, and the evergreen lining of the grave.
"But how's the mother?" I asked.
"Jenny? Oh, she'll get over it. I've felt dat way with one or two o' my
own. She'll get over. She's walkin' in de wood now."
"In this weather?"
Mrs. Madehurst looked at me with narrowed eyes across the counter.
"I dunno but it opens de 'eart like. Yes, it opens de 'eart. Dat's where
losin' and bearin' comes so alike in de long run, we do say."
Now the wisdom of the old wives is greater than that of all the Fathers,
and this last oracle sent me thinking so extendedly as I went up the road,
that I nearly ran over a woman and a child at the wooded corner by the
lodge gates of the House Beautiful.
"Awful weather!" I cried, as I slowed dead for the turn.
"Not so bad," she answered placidly out of the fog. "Mine's used to 'un.
You'll find yours indoors, I reckon."
Indoors, Madden received me with professional courtesy, and kind inquiries
for the health of the motor, which he would put under cover.
I waited in a still, nut-brown hall, pleasant with late flowers and warmed
with a delicious wood fire--a place of good influence and great peace.
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