"
"Great-Grandmother seemed to run short of rhymes at the last of
the epitaph," commented Dan.
"Finding rhymes isn't as easy as you might think," avowed Peter,
out of his own experience.
"I think Grandmother King intended the last of the epitaph to be
in blank verse," said Felicity with dignity.
There was still only a sprinkling of people in the church when we
went in and took our places in the old-fashioned, square King pew.
We had just got comfortably settled when Felicity said in an
agitated whisper, "Here is Peg Bowen!"
We all stared at Peg, who was pacing composedly up the aisle. We
might be excused for so doing, for seldom were the decorous aisles
of Carlisle church invaded by such a figure. Peg was dressed in
her usual short drugget skirt, rather worn and frayed around the
bottom, and a waist of brilliant turkey red calico. She wore no
hat, and her grizzled black hair streamed in elf locks over her
shoulders. Face, arms and feet were bare--and face, arms and feet
were liberally powdered with FLOUR. Certainly no one who saw Peg
that night could ever forget the apparition.
Peg's black eyes, in which shone a more than usually wild and
fitful light, roved scrutinizingly over the church, then settled
on our pew.
"She's coming here," whispered Felicity in horror.
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