IT WAS too beautiful a day for a funeral. The mid-afternoon sun shone down unpityingly on the open grave. Cottony white clouds moved slowly across the blue April sky, and the breeze that rustled the pages of the minister's book was warm and gentle...
"My Sister Winkie,"
Sketch: Vol. 10
, Article 11.
Available at: http://lib.dr.iastate.edu/sketch/vol10/iss2/11