The crowd was large. Westerfelt stood for a moment in the phalanx of
men surrounding the shed, and surreptitiously eyed Bates and Harriet.
Her back was towards him as she stood, her cloak on her arm, still
politely watching her escort's movements. She looked so pretty, and
there was such appealing grace in her posture. He saw Bates join her
and take her arm, and then he watched them no longer. He knew they
were coming, and he went in at the end of the shed and found a seat
near the centre on the left. He saw Luke Bradley drive up and help his
wife and Mrs. Dawson to alight, then Frank Hansard and Jennie Wynn came
in and sat on the bench just behind him. Jennie was laughing in her
handkerchief.
"There is old Mis' Henshaw," she whispered to Frank; "she's the'r
regular stan'-by at shouting. When they begin to call up mourners she
commences to clap 'er hands an' shout, then the rest get over their
bashfulness an' the fun begins. We may see a lot of excitement if the
town-people don't come and freeze 'em out with their finery an' stiff
ways."
"You ort ter go up yorese'f, Jen," replied Frank; "you need it ef
anybody does.
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