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There she was, sitting in her big chintz-covered chair, resting after the morning's work, as they found on entering the little old kitchen. Rachel's eyes had been getting bigger and bigger, though she had said nothing tip to this time; but when they rested on the old lady's face, under the big, frilled cap, she burst out sharply: "Is that your Gran?" "She isn't my Gran," replied Peletiah.
"Whoopity la!" She flung herself down on the long, flat doorstone, and whipped her gown neatly away on either side. "I'm goin' to sit in the middle." The boys, very much pleased at this arrangement, which they would never have thought of suggesting, sat down sedately in their places and folded their hands in their laps. "Now tell about those funerals," said Peletiah.
So Peletiah went into the buttery and got the pat of butter, and the three started off. The parson stepped away from the doorway into the entry, where he had been silently watching proceedings, and went over to the window. "Come here, Almira." He held out his hand. She dropped her rolling-pin and ran over to his side. He drew her to him. "See, dear," he said.
"Oh!" said Rachel. Perhaps it wasn't so very bad as she feared. She would wait and see. "She's dreadfully deaf," remarked Peletiah. "What's that?" "She can't hear unless you scream." Rachel burst into a loud laugh, but it was very musical; and before they knew it, although they were very much astonished, the two boys were laughing, too, though they hadn't the least idea at what.
Davie and Peletiah!" cried Polly, an awful dread at her heart, on account of the little guest, as she hung over the wreck, pulling busily at the chairs, "are you all safe?" Little David tried to speak, but his head ached dreadfully, and the breath seemed to have left his body. Peletiah said slowly, "I barked my shin, and I didn't want to go to Boxford."
She sat still for a minute, lost in thought. Peletiah and Ezekiel had wandered off outside, where they sat under the lilac bushes, to rest after their unwonted exercise, so the hens, undisturbed, stepped over the sill of the kitchen door, and scratched and picked about to their hearts' content.
Henderson told such a funny story about a monkey he had read about only just that very morning, that Ezekiel forgot there ever was such a thing as tired legs, and even Peletiah had no thoughts for that dreadful run home from Grandma Bascom's. As for Rachel, all idea of dinner flew at once out of her head. She laid down her knife and fork and leaned forward with sparkling eyes, to catch every word.
"It is, too," declared Peletiah; "it's Miss Bedlow's funeral, and my Pa is going to bury her." "It ain't, either; an' that's a baker's cart," said Rachel, pointing to the departing hearse with scorn. "Oh, oh, what a story!" exclaimed Ezekiel, who was just on the point of reproving his brother for contradicting, and he pointed his brown finger at her.
A small, black, high-topped wagon went by, the old horse at a jog trot, and after it came a two-seated rockaway, and after that a carryall, and around the curve in the road appeared more vehicles of the same patterns, tapering off to a line of chaises and gigs. "Why, that's the funeral," said Peletiah, in solemn enjoyment, and pointing a finger at it; "it's going by now."
"O dear me," exclaimed Polly, fishing him out, "that's too bad! Joel, you oughtn't to have taken him to Boxford if he didn't want to go." "That wouldn't 'a' made any difference," declared Joel, "'cause we had to get upset, anyway." "Well, Davie's hurt, I expect," said Polly, looking Peletiah carefully all over, as in duty bound to a guest, as he stood up before her.
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