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"I'm agoin' to give Hallie a good funeral," Mrs. Hudgers confided to Amarilly. "I'm agoin' to hev hacks and flowers and singin' If yer St. Mark's man was to hum now, I should like to have him fishyate." "Who will you git?" asked Amarilly interestedly. "I'll hev the preacher from the meetin'-house on the hill, Brother Longgrass." "I wonder," speculated Amarilly, "if he'd like to wear the surplus?"
Foremost as the plumes of Henry of Navarre in battle were the surplice and the renting thereof in Amarilly's vision. "I don't expect he could do that," replied Mrs. Hudgers doubtfully. "His church most likely wouldn't stand fer it. Brother Longgrass is real kind if he ain't my sort. He's agoin' to let the boys run the maylodeun down here the night afore the funyral." "Who's agoin' to sing?"
The picked choir had resonant voices, and Brother Longgrass preached one of his longest sermons, considerately omitting reference to any of the characteristics of the deceased. Mrs. Hudgers was suitably attired in donated and dusty black.
The extremely unconventional garb of Hallie caused some little comment, but it was commonly supposed to be a part of the Episcopalian spirit which the Jenkinses seemed to be inculcating in the neighborhood. Brother Longgrass was a little startled upon beholding the white-robed corpse, but perceiving what comfort it brought to the afflicted mother, he magnanimously forbore to allude to the matter.
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