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Updated: May 13, 2025
Attached to the wreath of flowers was a small piece of paper, carefully folded, which contained these lines: said to be composed by the mother of the child. "An infant hand presents these blushing flowers, Glowing and pure as childhood's artless hours, Where roses bloom, and buds of promise smile, Repaying with their charms the culturers toil. Oh! take them FATHER, they were culled for you!
I seen them pictures, and they riled me right up, to think of Doc's goin' round wrapped up in them sheets, or whatever it is on them folks in the pictures. Mebby it's all right for Physical Culturers, but I don't ever hope to see Doc so." Eliph' Hewlitt laughed a thin little laugh, and Mrs. Weaver smiled. "Now, you do think I'm foolish, don't you?" she inquired.
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