Amid the funereal gloom, broken only by a hushed word or two from Winona or her mother, the judge completed his fond stroking of the luminous hat, raised it slowly, and with both hands adjusted it to his pale curls.

Then he took up his gold-headed ebony cane and stepped from the dusk of the parlour into the light of day, walking uprightly in the pride of fine raiment and conscious dignity.

Mrs.Penniman walked at his side, not unconscious herself of the impressive mien of her consort.
Followed Winona and Merle, the latter bearing her hymn book and at some pains keeping step with his companion.

Behind them trailed the Wilbur twin, resolving, as was his weekly rule, to keep himself neat through church and Sunday-school--yet knowing in his heart it could not be done.
Already he could feel his hair stiffening as the coating of soap dried upon it.

Pretty soon the shining surface would crack and disorder ensue.
What was the use?
As he walked carefully now he inhaled rich scent from the group--Winona's perfume combining but somehow not blending with a pungent, almost vivid, aroma of moth balls from the judge's frock coat.
They met or passed other family groups, stiffly armoured for the weekly penance to a bewildering puzzle of mortality.