the village watch-tower- 第17部分

sordid　economy；　so　aunt　Hitty　determined　in　her　own　mind　to　have

the　latest　fashion　in　everything；　including　a　silver　coffin　plate。

The　Butterfield　coffin　plates　were　a　thing　to　be　proud　of。

They　had　been　sacredly　preserved　for　years　and　years；　and　the

entire　collectionnumbering　nineteen　in　all　had　been　framed；

and　adorned　the　walls　of　the　deceased　lady's　best　room。

They　were　not　of　solid　silver；　it　is　true；　but　even　so　it　was　a

matter　of　distinction　to　have　belonged　to　a　family　that　could

afford　to　have　nineteen　coffin　plates　of　any　sort。



Aunt　Hitty　planned　certain　dramatic　details　as　she

walked　town　the　road　to　Croft's。　It　came　to　her　in　a　burst

of　inspiration　that　she　would　have　two　ministers：　　one　for

the　long　prayer；　and　one　for　the　short　prayer　and　the　remarks。

She　hoped　that　Elder　Weeks　would　be　adequate　in　the　latter

direction。　　She　knew　she　couldn't　for　the　life　of　her　think

of　anything　interesting　about　Mrs。　Butterfield；　save　that　she

possessed　nineteen　coffin　plates；　and　brought　her　hens　to

Edgewood　every　summer　for　their　health；　but　she　had　heard　Elder

Weeks　make　a　moving　discourse　out　of　less　than　that。

To　be　sure；　he　needed　priming；　but　she　was　equal　to　that。

There　was　Ivory　Brown's　funeral：　　how　would　that　have　gone　on

if　it　hadn't　been　for　her？　　Wasn't　the　elder　ten　minutes　late；

and　what　would　his　remarks　have　amounted　to　without　her　suggestions？

You　might　almost　say　she　was　the　author　of　the　discourse；

for　she　gave　him　all　the　appropriate　ideas。　　As　she　had　helped　him

out　of　the　wagon　she　had　said：　　〃Are　you　prepared？　　I　thought　not；

but　there's　no　time　to　lose。　　Remember　there　are　aged　parents；

two　brothers　living；　one　railroading　in　Spokane　Falls；

the　other　clerking　in　Washington；　D。　C。　Don't　mention

the　Universalists；there's　ben　two　in　the　fam'ly；　nor　insanity；

there　's　ben　one　o'　them。　　The　girl　in　the　corner　by　the　clock

is　the　one　that　the　remains　has　been　keeping　comp'ny　with。

If　you　can　make　some　genteel　allusions　to　her；　it'll　be　much

appreciated　by　his　folks。〃



As　to　the　long　prayer；　she　knew　that　the　Rev。　Mr。　Ford　could　be　relied

on　to　pray　until　aunt　Becky　Burnham　should　twitch　him　by　the　coat　tails。

She　had　done　it　more　than　once。　　She　had　also；　on　one　occasion；

got　up　and　straightened　his　ministerial　neckerchief；　which　he　had　gradually

〃prayed〃　around　his　saintly　neck　until　it　was　behind　the　right　ear。



These　plans　proved　so　fascinating　to　aunt　Hitty　that　she　walked

quite　half　a　mile　beyond　Croft's；　and　was　obliged　to　retrace　her　steps。

She　conceived　bands　of　black　alpaca　for　the　sleeves　and　hats

of　the　pallbearers；　and　a　festoon　of　the　same　over　the　front　gate；

if　there　should　be　any　left　over。　　She　planned　the　singing　by　the　choir。

There　had　been　no　real　choir…singing　at　any　funeral　in　Edgewood　since

the　Rev。　Joshua　Beckwith　had　died。　　She　would　ask　them　to　open　with





Rebel　mourner；　cease　your　weepin'。

You　too　must　die。



This　was　a　favorite　funeral　hymn。　　The　only　difficulty

would　be　in　keeping　aunt　Becky　Burnham　from　pitching　it

in　a　key　where　nobody　but　a　soprano　skylark；　accustomed　to

warble　at　a　great　height；　could　possibly　sing　it。

It　was　generally　given　at　the　grave；　when　Elder　Weeks　officiated；

but　it　never　satisfied　aunt　Hitty；　because　the　good　elder　always

looked　so　unpicturesque　when　he　threw　a　red　bandanna　handkerchief

over　his　head　before　beginning　the　twenty…seven　verses。

After　the　long　prayer；　she　would　have　Almira　Berry　give

for　a　solo





This　gro…o…oanin'　world　's　too　dark　and

dre…e…ar　for　the　saints'　e　…　ter　…　nal　rest；



This　hymn；　if　it　did　not　wholly　reconcile　one　to　death；

enabled　one　to　look　upon　life　with　sufficient　solemnity。

It　was　a　thousand　pities；　she　thought；　that　the　old　hearse　was

so　shabby　and　rickety；　and　that　Gooly　Eldridge；　who　drove　it；

would　insist　on　wearing　a　faded　peach…blow　overcoat。

It　was　exasperating　to　think　of　the　public　spirit　at　Egypt；

and　contrast　it　with　the　state　of　things　at　Pleasant　River。

In　Egypt　they　had　sold　the　old　hearse　house　for　a　sausage　shop；

and　now　they　were　having　hearse　sociables　every　month

to　raise　money　for　a　new　one。



All　these　details　flew　through　aunt　Hitty's　mind　in

fascinating　procession。　　There　shouldn't　be　〃a　hitch〃　anywhere。

There　had　been　a　hitch　at　her　last　funeral；　but　she　had　been

only　an　assistant　there。　　Matt　Henderson　had　been　struck

by　lightning　at　the　foot　of　Squire　Bean's　old　nooning　tree；

and　certain　circumstances　combined　to　make　the　funeral　one

of　unusual　interest；　so　much　so　that　fat　old　Mrs。　Potter

from　Deerwander　created　a　sensation　at　the　cemetery。

She　was　so　anxious　to　get　where　she　could　see　everything

to　the　best　advantage　that　she　crowded　too　near　the　bier；

stepped　on　the　sliding　earth；　and　pitched　into　the　grave。

As　she　weighed　over　two　hundred　pounds；　and　was　in　a　position

of　some　disadvantage；　it　took　five　men　to　extricate　her　from

the　dilemma；　and　the　operation　made　a　long　and　somewhat

awkward　break　in　the　religious　services。　　Aunt　Hitty　always

said　of　this　catastrophe；　〃If　I'd　'a'　ben　Mis'　Potter；　I'd　'a'

ben　so　mortified　I　believe　I'd　'a'　said；　'I　wa'n't　plannin'

to　be　buried；　but　now　I'm　in　here　I　declare　I'll　stop！'〃



Old　Mrs。　Butterfield's　funeral　was　not　only　voted

an　entire　success　by　the　villagers；　but　the　seal　of　professional

approval　was　set　upon　it　by　an　undertaker　from　Saco；

who　declared　that　Mrs。　Tarbox　could　make　a　handsome　living

in　the　funeral　line　anywhere。　　Providence；　who　always　assists

those　who　assist　themselves；　decreed　that　the　niece　Lyddy　Ann

should　not　arrive　until　the　aunt　was　safely　buried；　so；　there　being

none　to　resist　her　right　or　grudge　her　the　privilege　aunt　Hitty；

for　the　first　time　in　her　life；　rode　in　the　next　buggy　to

the　hearse。　　Si；　in　his　best　suit；　a　broad　weed　and　weepers；

drove　Cyse　Higgins's　black　colt；　and　aunt　Hitty　was　dressed　in

deep　mourning；　with　the　Widow　Buzzell's　crape　veil　over　her　face；

and　in　her　hand　a　palmleaf　fan　tied　with　a　black　ribbon。

Her　comment　to　Si；　as　she　went　to　her　virtuous　couch　that　night；　was：

〃It　was　an　awful　dry　funeral；　but　that　was　the　only　flaw　in　it。

It　would　'a'　ben　perfect　if　there'　ben　anybody　to　shed　tears。

I　come　pretty　nigh　it　myself；　though　I　ain't　no　relation；

when　Elder　Weeks　said；　'You'll　go　round　the　house；　my　sisters；

and　Mis'　Butterfield　won't　be　there；　you'll　go　int'　the　orchard；

and　Mis'　Butterfield　won't　be　there；　you'll　go　int'

the　barn　and　Mis'　Butterfield　won't　be　there；　you'll　go　int'

the　shed；　and　Mis'　Butterfield　won't　be　there；　you'll　go　int'

the　hencoop；　and　Mis'　Butterfield　won't　be　there！'

That　would　'a'　drawed　tears　from　a　stone　most；　'specially　sence　Mis'

Butterfield　set　such　store　by　her　hens。〃



And　this　is　the　way　that　Lyddy　Butterfield　came　into

her　kingdom；　a　little　lone　brown　house　on　the　river's　brim。

She　had　seen　it　only　once　before　when　she　had　driven　out　from　Portland；

years　ago；　with　her　aunt。　　Mrs。　Butterfield　lived　in　Portland；

but　spent　her　summers　in　Edgewood　on　account　of　her　chickens。

She　always　explained　that　the　country　was　dreadful　dull　for　her；

but　good　for　the　hens；　they　always　laid　so　much　better　in

the　winter　time。



Lyddy　liked　the　place　all　the　better　for　its　loneliness。

She　had　never　had　enough　of　solitude；　and　this　quiet　home；

with　the　song　of　the　river　for　company；　if　one　needed　more

company　than　chickens　and　a　cat；　satisfied　all　her　desires；

particularly　as　it　was　accompanied　by　a　snug　little　income

of　two　hundred　dollars　a　year；　a　meagre　sum　that　seemed　to　open

up　mysterious　avenues　of　joy　to　her　starved；　impatient　heart。



When　she　was　a　mere　infant；　her　brother　was　holding

her　on　his　knee　before　the　great　old…fashioned　fireplace

heaped　with　burning　logs。　　A　sudden　noise　startled　him；

and　the　crowing；　restless　baby　gave　an　unexpected　lurch；　and　slipped；

face　downward；　into　the　glowing　embers。　　It　was　a　full　minute

before　the　horror…stricken　boy　could　extricate　the　little　creature

from　the　cruel　flame　that　had　already　done　its　fatal　work。

The　baby　escaped　with　her　life；　but　was　disfigured　forever。

As　she　grew　older；　the　gentle　hand　of　time　could　not　entirely

efface　the　terrible　scars。　　One　cheek　was　wrinkled　and　crimson；

while　one　eye　and　the　mouth　were　drawn　down　pathetically。

The　accident　might　have　changed　the　disposition　of　any　child；

but　Lyddy　chanced　to　be　a　sensitive；　introspective　bit　of　feminine

humanity；　in　whose　memory　the　burning　flame　was　never　quenched。

Her　mother；　partly　to　conceal　her　own　wounded　vanity；　and　partly

to　shield　the　timid；　morbid　child；　kept　her　out　of　sight　as　much

as　possible；　so　that　at　sixteen；　when　she　was　left　an　orphan；

she　had　lived　almost　entirely　in　solitude。



She　became；　in　course　of　time；　a　kind　of　general　nursery

governess　in　a　large　family　of　motherless　children。

The　father　was　almost　always　away　from　home；　his　sister　kept　the　house；

and　Lyddy　stayed　in　the　nursery；　bathing　the　brood　and　putting

them　to　bed；　dressing　them　in　the　morning；　and　playing　with　them

in　the　safe　privacy　of　the　back　garden　or　the　open　attic。

They　loved　her；　disfigured　as　she　was；　for　the　child　despises

mere　externals；　and　explores　the　heart　of　things　to　see　whether　it

be　good　or　evil；but　they　could　never　induce　her　to　see　strangers；

nor　to　join　any　gathering　of　people。



The　children　were　grown　and　married　now；　and　Lyddy　was　nearly

forty　when　she　came　into　possession　of　house　and　lands　and　fortune；

forty；　with　twenty　years　of　unexpended　feeling　pent　within　her。

Forty；　that　is　rather　old　to　be　interesting；　but　age　is　a　relative　matter。

Haven't　you　seen　girls　of　four…and…twenty　who　have　nibbled　and　been

nibbled　at　ever　since　they　were　sixteen；　but　who　have　neither　caught

anything　nor　been　caught？　　They　are　old；　if　you　like；　but　Lyddy　was

forty　and　still　young；　with　her　susceptibilities　cherished；　not　dulled；

and　with　all　the　〃langu