just like the men. I'd have come yesterday, but I went
to Mrs. Roderick MacAllister's funeral. At first I
thought my head was aching so badly I couldn't enjoy
myself if I did go. But she was a hundred years old,
and I'd always promised myself that I'd go to her
funeral."

"Was it a successful function?" asked Anne, noticing
that the office door was ajar.

"What's that? Oh, yes, it was a tremendous funeral.
She had a very large connection. There was over one
hundred and twenty carriages in the procession. There
was one or two funny things happened. I thought that
die I would to see old Joe Bradshaw, who is an infidel
and never darkens the door of a church, singing `Safe
in the Arms of Jesus' with great gusto and fervor. He
glories in singing-- that's why he never misses a
funeral. Poor Mrs. Bradshaw didn't look much like
singing--all wore out slaving. Old Joe starts out once
in a while to buy her a present and brings home some
new kind of farm machinery. Isn't that like a man?
But what else would you expect of a man who never goes
to church, even a Methodist one? I was real thankful
to see you and the young Doctor in the Presbyterian
church your first Sunday. No doctor for me who isn't a
Presbyterian."

"We were in the Methodist church last Sunday evening,"
said Anne wickedly.