We and the World, Part I | Page 8

which I
spoke of "the melancholy occasion"--the "wishes of deceased"--and the
"feelings of survivors" when we buried the puppy.
It was understood that I could not attend the puppy's funeral in my
proper person, because I wished to be the undertaker; but the happy
thought struck me of putting my wheelbarrow alongside of the brick
wall with a note inside it to the effect that I had "sent my carriage as a
mark of respect."

In one point we could not emulate the real funeral: that was carried out
"regardless of expense." The old miser had left a long list of the names
of the people who were to be invited to it and to its attendant feast, in
which was not only my father's name, but Jem's and mine. Three yards
was the correct length of the black silk scarves which it was the custom
in the neighbourhood to send to dead people's friends; but the old
miser's funeral-scarves were a whole yard longer, and of such stiffly
ribbed silk that Mr. Soot, the mourning draper, assured my mother that
"it would stand of itself." The black gloves cost six shillings a pair, and
the sponge-cakes, which used to be sent with the gloves and scarves,
were on this occasion ornamented with weeping willows in white
sugar.
Jem and I enjoyed the cake, but the pride we felt in our scarves and
gloves was simply boundless. What pleased us particularly was that our
funeral finery was not enclosed with my father's. Mr. Soot's man
delivered three separate envelopes at the door, and they looked like
letters from some bereaved giant. The envelopes were twenty inches by
fourteen, and made of cartridge-paper; the black border was two inches
deep, and the black seals must have consumed a stick of sealing-wax
among them. They contained the gloves and the scarves, which were
lightly gathered together in the middle with knots of black gauze
ribbon.
How exquisitely absurd Jem and I must have looked with four yards of
stiff black silk attached to our little hats I can imagine, if I cannot
clearly remember. My dear mother dressed us and saw us off (for, with
some curious relic of pre-civilized notions, women were not allowed to
appear at funerals), and I do not think she perceived anything odd in
our appearance. She was very gentle, and approved of everything that
was considered right by the people she was used to, and she had only
two anxieties about our scarves: first, that they should show the full
four yards of respect to the memory of the deceased; and secondly, that
we should keep them out of the dust, so that they might "come in useful
afterwards."
She fretted a little because she had not thought of changing our gloves

for smaller sizes (they were eight and a quarter); but my father "pish"ed
and "pshaw"ed, and said it was better than if they had been too small,
and that we should be sure to be late if my mother went on fidgeting.
So we pulled them on--with ease--and picked up the tails of our
hatbands--with difficulty--and followed my father, our hearts beating
with pride, and my mother and the maids watching us from the door.
We arrived quite half-an-hour earlier than we need have done, but the
lane was already crowded with complimentary carriages, and curious
bystanders, before whom we held our heads and hatbands up; and the
scent of the wild roses was lost for that day in an all-pervading
atmosphere of black dye. We were very tired, I remember, by the time
that our turn came to be put into a carriage by Mr. Soot, who
murmured--"Pocket-handkerchiefs, gentlemen"--and, following the
example of a very pale-faced stranger who was with us, we drew out
the clean handkerchiefs with which our mother had supplied us, and
covered our faces with them.
At least Jem says he shut his eyes tight, and kept his face covered the
whole way, but he always was so conscientious! I held my
handkerchief as well as I could with my gloves; but I contrived to peep
from behind it, and to see the crowd that lined the road to watch us as
we wound slowly on.
If these outsiders, who only saw the procession and the funeral, were
moved almost to enthusiasm by the miser's post-mortem liberality, it
may be believed that the guests who were bidden to the feast did not
fail to obey the ancient precept, and speak well of the dead. The tables
(they were rickety) literally groaned under the weight of eatables and
drinkables, and the dinner was so prolonged that Jem and I got terribly
tired, in spite of the fun of watching the faces of the men we did not
know, to see which got