He had never seen anything like it, but its suggestion was evil. The
women waited. Something seemed to be expected of some one. His father
led him into that room and lifted him up to see. His mother's face was
there under a glass. He could see that she wore her pretty blue dress,
and on one arm beside her was something covered with white. He called
softly to her.
"Mamma! Mamma!"
But she did not open her eyes.
Then he was out again where the people were, and the people seemed to
forget about him. He went to his little room under the sloping roof. He
had not let go of the shell and now, in the fading light from the low
window, he lost himself once more in its depths. Inwardly he knew that a
terror lurked near, but he had not yet felt it. Only when bedtime came
did the continued silence of his mother become meaningful. When he was
left alone, he cried for her, still clutching his shell.
The minister came the next day, and many people, and the minister talked
to them about his mother. The two Uncle Bunkers were there, grim,
hard-mouthed, glaring, for they hated each other as only brothers can
hate. He wondered if they would still let him be partly a Bunker, now
that his mother was gone. He wondered also at the novel consideration he
saw being shown to his father. Dressed in a new suit of black, with an
unaccustomed black hat, his father was plainly become a man of
importance.
Pages:
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40