"
"I'll warrant Mrs Forsyth caught it in the morning," said
John Murchison.
"That she did. The doctor was as cross as two sticks that
she hadn't had him out to answer the phone. 'I just spoke
up,' she said, 'and told him I didn't see how he was
going to do any good to the pour soul over a telephone
wire.' 'It isn't that,' he said, 'but I might have put
them on to Peter Fratch for the funeral. We've never had
an undertaker in the church before,' he said; 'he's just
come, and he ought to be supported. Now I expect it's
too late, they'll have gone to Liscombe.' He rang them
up right away, but they had."
"Dr Drummond can't stand Liscombe," said Alec, as they
all laughed a little at the Doctor's foible, all except
Advena, who laughed a great deal. She laughed wildly,
then weakly. "I wouldn't--think it a pleasure--to be
buried by Liscombe myself!" she cried hysterically, and
then laughed again until the tears ran down her face,
and she lay back in her chair and moaned, still laughing.
Mr and Mrs Murchison, Alec, Stella, and Advena made up
the family party; Oliver, for reasons of his own, would
attend the River Avenue Methodist Church that evening.
They slipped out presently into a crisp white winter
night. The snow was banked on both sides of the street.
Spreading garden fir trees huddled together weighted down
with it; ragged icicles hung from the eaves or lay in
long broken fingers on the trodden paths.
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