North of Boston

They aint much happened sence the last riting. Long late this fall my partner in the lumber business phones and asts am I getting into my store clothes to go to the funeral. I say I am.

We drive over a couple of towns and tread into a high posted white church. Join in with the Masons and tie on the aprons.

The late lamented lies up front al most hid in flowers.

The only formal learning he ever got was in a one room country school. But he was one of the best educated men I ever knew. I would ask him to go with me on trips and then get him to talking about crop rotation, cattle breeding, town and county history, town finance, game propagation, timber lot lines with international affairs thrown in. The guy had a sweet gentle nature and you really had to work hard to get him to say anything mean.

Finally the service is over and the Masons line up along the walk for the mourners to file out. It is one of them still fall afternoons when you can hear a rooster crow way off on a hill. The trees are all bare except for a few last leaves, coming down very slow and reluctant. They is just the village street and the white houses and the tap of the mourners heels on the walk.

A farm woman, wearing her one good coat and dress is very free with her handkerchief. She is followed by a female in mink cape and tailored suit what is using her's likewise. Men wearing logging pants and shirts and men in double breasted blue suits come lown the walk scowling and wiping their eyes.

Funerals aint no fun. But that wun was as nice a leave taking as a man can have. I do wisht that wun or two of you fellers could of stood beside me. It want no fun, but you might of liked it just the same.