About five o'clock a messenger arrived to say a funeral
was waiting in the church, and he was to come at once. He started in
drenching rain, which turned to sleet and snow as he approached the moor
edges. It was pitch-dark when he got off his horse at the church gates,
and with some difficulty he found his way into the vestry and put a
surplice over his wet garments. He could see nothing in the church, but
he asked when he got into the reading-desk if any one was there. A deep
voice answered, "Yes, sir; we are here"; and he began the service, which
long practice had taught him to repeat by heart. When about half-way
through the lesson he saw a glimmer of light, and Dick entered the
church with a lantern, which he placed on the top of the coffin. It was
a gruesome scene which the lantern brought into view. There was the
coffin, and before it, in a seat, four figures of the navvy-bearers, and
Dick himself covered with snow and as white as if he wore a surplice.
They filed out into the churchyard, but the wind had blown the snow into
the grave, and this had to be got out before they could lower the body
into it. The navvies, who were kind-hearted fellows, explained that they
could give no notice of the funeral beforehand, and they quite
understood the delay was no fault of the vicar's or Dick's.
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