table in the centre, but had no roof. The one on the other side of the
church was roofed, but probably they had found that here no roof could
resist the sea-blasts in winter. The top of the wall where the roof should
have rested, was simply covered with flat slates to protect it from the
rain.

"Good-morning, Coombes," I said.

He turned up a wizened, humorous old face, the very type of a
gravedigger's, and with one hand leaning on the edge of the green mound,
upon which he had been cropping with a pair of shears the too long and
too thin grass, touched his cap with the other, and bade me a cheerful
good-morning in return.

"You're making things tidy," I said.

"It take time to make them all comfortable, you see, sir," he returned,
taking up his shears again and clipping away at the top and sides of the
mound.

"You mean the dead, Coombes?"

"Yes, sir; to be sure, sir."

"You don't think it makes much difference to their comfort, do you, whether
the grass is one length or another upon their graves?"

"Well no, sir. I don't suppose it makes _much_ difference to them. But it
look more comfortable, you know. And I like things to look comfortable.
Don't you, sir?"