Free A Tangled Web by L. M. Montgomery

“that I say died. I shall not pass away or pass out or pay my debt to nature or depart this life or join the great majority or be summoned to my long home. I intend simply and solely to die.
    â€œâ€˜ Everybody concerned felt that it was high time the old lady did die. She had lived a long life, respectably if not brilliantly, had experienced almost everything a decent female could experience, had outlived husband and children and anybody who had ever really cared anything for her. There was therefore neither sense, reason nor profit in pretending gloom or grief. The funeral took place on’ —whatever date it does take place on—‘ from the home of Miss Camilla Jackson at Indian Spring. It was a cheerful funeral, in accordance with Aunt Becky’s strongly expressed wish, the arrangements being made by Mr. Henry Trent, undertaker, Rose River.’
    â€œHenry will never forgive me for not calling him a mortician,” said Aunt Becky. “Mortician—Humph! But Henry has a genius for arranging funerals and I’ve picked on him to plan mine.
    â€œâ€˜ Flowers were omitted by request’ —no horrors of funeral wreaths for me, mind. No bought harps and pillows and crosses. But if anybody cares to bring a bouquet from their own garden, they may—‘ and the services were conducted by the Rev. Mr. Trackley of Rose River. The pall-bearers were Hugh Dark, Robert Dark,’ —mind you don’t stumble, Dandy, as you did at Selina Dark’s funeral. What a jolt you must have given the poor girl!—‘ Palmer Dark, Homer Penhallow’ —put them on opposite sides of the casket so they can’t fight—‘ Murray Dark, Roger Penhallow, David Dark, and John Penhallow’— Drowned John, mind you, not that simpering nincompoop at Bay Silver— ‘who contrived to get through the performance without swearing as he did at his father’s funeral.’”
    â€œI didn’t,” shouted Drowned John furiously, springing to his feet. “And don’t you dare publish such a thing about me in your damned obituary. You—you—”
    â€œSit down, John, sit down. That really isn’t in the obituary. I just stuck it in this minute to get a rise out of you. Sit down.”
    â€œI didn’t swear at my father’s funeral,” muttered Drowned John sullenly as he obeyed.
    â€œWell, maybe it was your mother’s. Don’t interrupt me again, please. Courtesy costs nothing, as the Scotchman said. ‘ Aunt Becky was born a Presbyterian, lived a Presbyterian, and died a Presbyterian. She had a hard man to please in Theodore Dark, but she made him quite as good a wife as he deserved. She was a good neighbor as neighbors go and did not quarrel more than anybody else in the clan. She had a knack of taking the wind out of people’s sails that did not make for popularity. She seldom suffered in silence. Her temper was about the average, neither worse nor better and did not sweeten as she grew older. She always behaved herself decently, although many a time it would have been a relief to be indecent. She told the truth almost always, thereby doing a great deal of good and some harm, but she could tell a lie without straining her conscience when people asked questions they had no business to ask. She occasionally used a naughty word under great stress and she could listen to a risky story without turning white around the gills, but obscenity never took the place of wit with her. She paid her debts, went to church regularly, thought gossip was very interesting, liked to be the first to hear a piece of news, and was always especially interested in things that were none of her business. She could see a baby without wanting to eat it, but she was always a very good mother to her own . She longed for freedom, as all women do, but had sense enough to understand that real freedom is impossible in this kind of a world, the