The exotics shivered in the north-westerly wind; they looked meaningless, impertinent, in the gusty churchyard.

Humility, before the coffin left the house, had brought the dead man's old blue working-blouse, and spread it for a pall.

No flowers grew in the Parsonage garden; but pressed in her Bible lay a very little bunch, gathered, years ago, in the meadows by Honiton.

This she divided and, unseen by anyone, pinned the half upon the breast of the patched garment.
On the evening after the funeral and for the next day or two she was strangely quiet, and seemed to be waiting for Taffy to make some sign.

Dearly as mother and son loved one another, they had to find their new positions, each toward each.