Mr. Polly was spared much self-exposition by the tumult occasioned by

further arrivals.

"Ah! here's May Punt!" said Mrs. Johnson, and a small woman dressed in

the borrowed mourning of a large woman and leading a very small

long-haired observant little boy--it was his first funeral--appeared,

closely followed by several friends of Mrs. Johnson who had come to

swell the display of respect and made only vague, confused impressions

upon Mr. Polly's mind. (Aunt Mildred, who was an unexplained family

scandal, had declined Mrs. Johnson's hospitality.)

Everybody was in profound mourning, of course, mourning in the modern

English style, with the dyer's handiwork only too apparent, and hats

and jackets of the current cut. There was very little crape, and the

costumes had none of the goodness and specialisation and genuine

enjoyment of mourning for mourning's sake that a similar continental

gathering would have displayed. Still that congestion of strangers in

black sufficed to stun and confuse Mr. Polly's impressionable mind. It

seemed to him much more extraordinary than anything he had expected.

"Now, gals," said Mrs. Larkins, "see if you can help," and the three

daughters became confusingly active between the front room and the

back.

I hope everyone'll take a glass of sherry and a biscuit," said Mrs.

The History of Mr Polly