There they were tugging at his mind, and the funeral tugging at his
mind, too, and the sense of himself as Chief Mourner in a brand new
silk hat with a broad mourning band. He watched the ceremony and
missed his responses, and strange feelings twisted at his
heartstrings.


V

Mr. Polly walked back to the house because he wanted to be alone.
Miriam and Minnie would have accompanied him, but finding Uncle
Pentstemon beside the Chief Mourner they went on in front.

"You're wise," said Uncle Pentstemon.

"Glad you think so," said Mr. Polly, rousing himself to talk.

"I likes a bit of walking before a meal," said Uncle Pentstemon, and
made a kind of large hiccup. "That sherry rises," he remarked.
"Grocer's stuff, I expect."

He went on to ask how much the funeral might be costing, and seemed
pleased to find Mr. Polly didn't know.

"In that case," he said impressively, "it's pretty certain to cost
more'n you expect, my boy."

He meditated for a time. "I've seen a mort of undertakers," he
declared; "a mort of undertakers."