there was no tansy in the neighborhood with such snap to it as some
that grew about the schoolhouse lot. Being scuffed down all the
spring made it grow so much the better, like some folks that had it
hard in their youth, and were bound to make the most of themselves
before they died.




IV


At the Schoolhouse Window

ONE DAY I reached the schoolhouse very late, owing to attendance
upon the funeral of an acquaintance and neighbor, with whose sad
decline in health I had been familiar, and whose last days both the
doctor and Mrs. Todd had tried in vain to ease. The services had
taken place at one o'clock, and now, at quarter past two, I stood
at the schoolhouse window, looking down at the procession as it
went along the lower road close to the shore. It was a walking
funeral, and even at that distance I could recognize most of the
mourners as they went their solemn way. Mrs. Begg had been very
much respected, and there was a large company of friends following
to her grave. She had been brought up on one of the neighboring
farms, and each of the few times that I had seen her she professed
great dissatisfaction with town life. The people lived too close
together for her liking, at the Landing, and she could not get used
to the constant sound of the sea. She had lived to lament three
seafaring husbands, and her house was decorated with West Indian