He put his hand on the arm of Mr. Churchouse and regarded the grave with
a nodding head.

"Ah, my dear soul," he said. "Life, how short--eternity, how long!"

"True, most true, William."

"And I ask myself, as each corpse goes in, how many more pits will open
afore mine."

"'Tis hid with your Maker, William."

"Thank God I'm a good old man and ripe and ready," said Mr. Baggs.
"Not," he added, "that there's any credit to me; for you can't be
anything much but good at ninety-two."

"While the brain is spared we can think evil, William."

"Not a brain like mine, I do assure 'e."

A little girl ran into the churchyard--a pretty, fair child, whose
bright hair contrasted with the black she wore.

"They have come and father sent me to tell you, Mr. Churchouse," she
said.

"Thank you, Estelle," he answered, and they returned to the open space
together. The child then joined her father, and Mr. Churchouse, saluting
the dead, walked to the first mourning coach and opened the door.