bore them because they might not die. And all those that he had
uttered the most furtively, chirrupped the loudest and the shrillest
in the branches all the night.

And all the thoughts that Tom had ever thought about himself now
pointed at the wet bones and mocked at the old torn coat. But the
thoughts that he had had of others were the only companions that his
soul had to soothe it in the night as it swung to and fro. And they
twittered to the soul and cheered the poor dumb thing that could
have dreams no more, till there came a murderous thought and drove
them all away.

And the wind blew and blew.

Paul, Archbishop of Alois and Vayence, lay in his white sepulchre of
marble, facing full to the southwards towards Paradise. And over
his tomb was sculptured the Cross of Christ, that his soul might
have repose. No wind howled here as it howled in lonely tree-tops
up upon the downs, but came with gentle breezes, orchard scented,
over the low lands from Paradise from the southwards, and played
about forget-me-nots and grasses in the consecrated land where lay
the Reposeful round the sepulchre of Paul, Archbishop of Alois and
Vayence. Easy it was for a man's soul to pass from such a
sepulchre, and, flitting low over remembered fields, to come upon
the garden lands of Paradise and find eternal ease.

And the wind blew and blew.

In a tavern of foul repute three men were lapping gin. Their names
were Joe and Will and the gypsy Puglioni; none other names had they,