served, when the body had settled into its place
of decay, was the silent uncovering of the head, as a last token of
respect and farewell, it may be suggested that the Church of England
herself, in all her beautiful service, has no prayer for the departed
soul, which cannot be beyond the need of prayer, as the longings that
follow it into the region of the Unknown, are not beyond its comfort.

Before the grave was quite filled the company had nearly gone. Thomas
Crann, the stone-mason, and George Macwha, the _wright_, alone remained
behind, for they had some charge over the arrangements, and were now
taking a share in covering the grave. At length the last sod was laid
upon the mound, and stamped into its place, where soon the earth's
broken surface would heal, as society would flow together again,
closing over the place that had known the departed, and would know him
no more. Then Thomas and George sat down, opposite to each other, on
two neighbouring tombstones, and wiping their brows, gave each a sigh
of relief, for the sun was hot and oppressive.

"Hech! it's a weary warl," said George.

"Ye hae no richt to say sae, George," answered Thomas, "for ye hae
never met it, an' foughten wi' 't. Ye hae never draan the soord o' the
Lord and o' Gideon. Ye hae never broken the pitcher, to lat the lamp
shine out, an' I doubt ye hae smo'red it by this time. And sae, whan
the bridegroom comes, ye'll be ill-aff for a licht."

"Hoot, man! dinna speak sic awfu' things i' the verra kirkyard."

"Better hear them i' the kirkyard than at the closed door, George!"

"Weel, but," rejoined Macwha, anxious to turn the current of the
conversation, which he found unpleasantly personal, "jist tell me
honestly, Thamas Crann, do ye believe, wi' a' yer heart an' sowl, that
the deid man--Gude be wi' him!--"

"No prayin' for the deid i' my hearin', George! As the tree falleth, so
it shall lie."

"Weel! weel! I didna mean onything."

"That I verily believe. Ye seldom do!"

"But I jist want to speir," resumed George, with some asperity, getting
rather nettled at his companion's persistent discourtesy, "gin ye
believe that Jeames Anderson here, honest man, aneath our feet,
crumblin' awa', as ye ken, and no ae spoke o' his wheel to the fore, or
lang, to tell what his cart was like--do ye believe that his honest
face will, ae day, pairt the mouls, an' come up again, jist here, i'
the face o' the light, the verra same as it vanished whan we pat