Page:Weeds (1923).pdf/58



With the end of the hymn the mourners passed about the coffin to take their last look at the dead, then went out respectfully and left the family alone.

On the way out to form the funeral procession, the Reverend Spragg touched Jabez Moorhouse on the elbow.

"I—I wonder if you would mind reading the service at the grave? You could do it as well as I can. You know I preach in three churches and they're a long way apart and it keeps me busy going between them, especially with the roads so bad. It's a long way to the graveyard and I have to preach at seven to-night in Mayville Junction."

The little preacher was embarrassed, apologetic, but anxious to be released. He pressed a leaflet containing the service into Jabez' hand.

"All right," said Jabez, not without a trace of condescension, "I'll do it. But you don't need to give me no book." He handed back the leaflet.

The long, cold drive seemed as though it would never end; but at last they got to the little graveyard, a few white and gray stones and painted wooden slabs crowning a hill. Here they climbed out of the buggies and stamped up and down a bit to limber up their numb feet and stiff legs.

Then they gathered about the open grave, Bill and his children nearest, the others clustered about them in a silent group, the men holding their hats awkwardly in their hands, and Jabez Moorhouse spoke over the dead what he remembered of the graveside service.

"Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live