Page:While the Billy Boils, 1913.djvu/268

 'That 'minds me,' he said, 'I never rightly knowed Brummy's religion, blest if ever I did. Howsomenever, there's one thing sartin―none o' them theer pianer-fingered parsons is a-goin' ter take the trouble ter travel out inter this God-forgotten part to hold sarvice over him, seein' as how his last cheque's blued. But, as I've got the fun'ral arrangements all in me own hands, I'll do jestice to it, and see that Brummy has a good comfortable buryin'―and more's unpossible.'

'It's time yer turned in Brum,' he said, lifting the body down.

He carried it to the grave and dropped it into one corner like a post. He arranged the bark so as to cover the face, and, by means of a piece of clothes line, lowered the body to a horizontal position. Then he threw in an armful of gum leaves, and then, very reluctantly, took the shovel and dropped in a few shovelfuls of earth.

'An' this is the last of Brummy,' he said, leaning on his spade and looking away over the tops of the ragged gums on the distant range.

This reflection seemed to engender a flood of memories, in which the old man became absorbed. He leaned heavily upon his spade and thought.

'Arter all,' he murmured sadly. 'Arter all―it were Brummy.'

'Brummy,' he said at last, 'it's all over now; nothin' matters now―nothin' didn't ever matter, nor―nor don't. You uster say as how it 'ud be all right termorrer' (pause); 'termorrer's come, Brummy―come fur you―it ain't come fur me yet, but―it's a-comin''