The Teacher's Funeral Read Online Free

The Teacher's Funeral
Book: The Teacher's Funeral Read Online Free
Author: Richard Peck
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out these two, and Charlie’s dunking seemed some solace to Lloyd.
    Charlie recovered pretty quick, because he said, “Them biscuits Tansy’s or your aunt Maud’s?”
    â€œAunt Maud’s,” I said, and Lloyd agreed, to keep Charlie from picking us clean. The chicken was already gone.
    It was dead of night now with a ring around the moon. J.W. came back from his patrol, limping with a bur between his toes, and crept into Lloyd’s damp lap.
    You could hear any distance now, even above the whine of the katydids. Way off somewhere a dog howled at the moon, and other dogs picked up his wolfish cry. Even J.W.’s ears pricked, though he never moved.
    â€œThat howling only means but one thing,” Charlie remarked, “and you know what.”
    â€œWhat?” Lloyd said.
    â€œDogs always know when somebody’s died.”
    â€œNo, sir, you’re not getting me again, Charlie. You either, Russell,” Lloyd piped in a thin and wobbling voice, “you dirty—”
    â€œI ain’t talking about gettin’ anybody,” Charlie said. “Somebody did die tonight. That’s why we—I was late. Everybody’s telling everybody else. You’re the only two who don’t know nothin’ about it.”
    He had me about half interested. It wasn’t like Charlie to pull something on his own. He didn’t have that much imagination. “How’d you find out?” I asked, to see what he’d say. Charlie didn’t think quick enough to lie.
    â€œParty line,” he said.
    It was true that the Parrs subscribed to the telephone. We Culvers did too. “Who died?” I inquired.
    â€œTake a guess,” Charlie said. “Go ahead.”
    â€œSomebody we know?”
    â€œYou can believe that.”
    â€œSomebody old or young?”
    â€œOld,” Charlie said, “as the hills.”
    Lloyd was looking back and forth between us, clutching J.W. He was on the hook again, and I was getting there.
    â€œOld as Old Man Lichtenberger?”
    â€œNobody’s that old,” Charlie said.
    â€œMan or woman?”
    â€œThat’d be tellin’ too much.”
    â€œSomebody we like?”
    â€œNot hardly,” Charlie said.
    â€œSomebody who’s been feeling poorly late?” I was wracking my brains.
    Charlie shrugged his big shoulders. “She must of felt pretty poorly tonight. She died.”
    â€œSo it’s a woman!”
    â€œMore or less,” Charlie said.
    The truth burst over me. “You don’t mean Miss Myrt Arbuckle!”
    â€œYou got her,” Charlie said. “She’s dead as mutton.”
    â€œCharlie, you lying—”
    â€œNo, Russell, believe me or believe me not. Miss Myrt kicked the bucket right about supper time.”
    â€œProve how you know.” I narrowed my eyes.
    â€œWell, she rooms and boards with Miz Cooper, and when Miz Cooper rung the doctor, everybody picked up. My ma did. You can bet your aunt Maud did.”
    That was the beauty of the old party line telephone. A call for one was a call for all. When somebody rang for the doctor—two long rings and a short one—everybody picked up.
    â€œWhen Miss Myrt didn’t come to supper, Miz Cooper went to her room. The old hen was stretched out on the bed, deader than a doornail. Doc Wilkinson told Miz Cooper to put pennies on Miss Myrt’s eyes to keep them closed till he could get there. And he said to tie up her jaw with a rag to keep it from sagging. So she’s shut up at last.”
    Lloyd’s eyes were wide and staring. His jaw hung open.
    I was almost speechless with amazement, but not quite. “What killed her?”
    â€œYou got me,” Charlie said. “All I know for sure is she’s cut her last switch.”
    Many’s the time she’d striped Charlie Parr’s other end, back before the arthritis got in her elbow. Though he was a preacher’s son, it
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