roadside.

"Yes," replied Mott. "Probably most of the people died of longevity."

"It don't tell on th' gravestones. Jest got a new gravedigger."

"How's that?"

"Third we've had inside o' a year. Had one fur nigh onto forty year, but
he up an' died."

"Longevity?" gravely inquired Mott.

"Like enough; though some folks thought 'twas softenin' o' th' brain;
but my 'pinion is he never had any brains to get soft. Still he were a
good digger, but the man we got next was no good."

"What was the trouble with him? More longevity?"

"No; he buried everybody with their feet to the west."

"Isn't that the proper thing?"

"No, 'tisn't!"

"Why?"

"Any fool knows ye ought t' be buried with yer feet t' the east."

"Why's that?"