ONE of the dearest and most saintly persons I ever knew, in foresight of her own approaching funeral, saw nothing attractive in the "hood and hatband" style toward which I evinced some old-fashioned leaning. "Why make everything as hopeless-looking as possible?" she argued.
And at a moment which was sad only for us who lost her, all turned out in harmony with her holy hope and joy.
Flowers covered her, loving mourners followed her, hymns were sung at her grave, the November day brightened, and the sun (I vividly remember) made a miniature rainbow in my eyelashes.
I have often thought of that rainbow since.
May all who love enjoy cheerful little rainbows at the funerals of their beloved ones.
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