BELOVED SON OF AGNES AND HAROLD BRIMBECOMB.
RESTING IN JESUS"

Flea read this over several times, and turned to Flukey.

"Who's Jesus, Fluke?" she asked.

The boy raised his head and opened his eyes languidly. "What? What'd ye
say, Flea?"

"Who's Jesus?" she asked again, pointing to the inscription on the
stone.

"I dunno. I guess he's some old feller layin' down in there with that
kid."

Thus the day had passed and the night fell. Flukey dropped into a deep
sleep, and Flea, huddling to the cold earth, settled closer to her
brother in the sheltering darkness. Suddenly the girl aroused as if from
a bad dream. She sat up, feeling for the pig and Snatchet, and placed
her hand on Flukey's quiet body and lay down. Once more came the sound.
It was the faint, distant hoot of an owl, stealing out through the tall
trees. Nearer and nearer it came, until Flea sat bolt upright. Instantly
into her mind shot the picture of a shriveled woman from the squatter
country. A cold perspiration broke over her.

She turned her head slowly and looked off into the dark end of the
cemetery, over which hung a mist. Through this veil the pale moon
watched the earth with steady gaze. From among the monuments and
time-scarred headstones, looming darkly in the forbidding silence, an