The road, as you know, goes downhill after passing the parsonage
gate, and holds on round the churchyard wall like a sunk way, the
soil inside being piled up to the wall's coping. But, my grandfather
being still behindhand with his job, his head and shoulders showed
over the grave's edge. So Arch'laus Spry caught sight of him.
"Why, you're the very man I was looking for," says Arch'laus,
stopping.
"Death halts for no man," answers my grandfather, shovelling away.
"That furrin' fellow is somewhere in this neighbourhood at this very
moment," says Arch'laus, wagging his head. "I saw his boat moored
down by the Passage as I landed. And I've a-got something to report.
He was up and off by three o'clock this morning, and knocked up the
Widow Polkinghorne, trying to borrow a pick and shovel."
"Pick and shovel!" My grandfather stopped working and slapped his
thigh. "Then he's the man that 've walked off with mine: and a
biddicks too."
"He said nothing of a biddicks, but he's quite capable of it."
"Surely in the midst of life we are in death," said my grandfather.
"I was al'ays inclined to believe that text, and now I'm sure of it.
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