'Your father is all broken up and has gone to bed, and it is not becoming in me to be around.
Somebody must take the helm.' 'And somebody has,' Tom answered her.

'Uncle Arthur is master of the ceremonies now.

He is running the ranch, and running it well, to.' And Tom was right, for Arthur had taken the helm, and aided and abetted by Jerrie, was quietly attending to matters and arranging for the funeral, which Dolly said must be in the house, as she would not go to the church, with a gaping crowd to stare at her.

So it was to take place at the house on Friday afternoon, and Arthur ordered a costly coffin from New York, with silver mountings and panels, and almost a car-load of flowers and floral designs, for Jerrie had explained to him Maude's wishes with regard to her grave, which they lined first with the freshest of the boughs from the four pines, filling these again with flowers up to the very top, so that the grave when finished seemed like one mass of flowers, in which it would not be hard to lie.
Dolly had objected to Billy as one of the pall-bearers.

He was too short and inferior looking, she said, and not at all in harmony with Dick, and Fred, and Paul Crosby, the young man who, in Harold's absence, had been asked to take his place.