Лето

           Liffhadbroughtalantern,andtheoldwomanwhohadalreadyspokentookitup,andopenedthedoortoletthelittleprocessionpassout.Thewindhaddropped,andthenightwasverydarkandbitterlycold.Theoldwomanwalkedahead,thelanternshakinginherhandandspreadingoutbeforeherapalepatchofdeadgrassandcoarse-leavedweedsenclosedinanimmensityofblackness.

           Mr.MilestookCharitybythearm,andsidebysidetheywalkedbehindthemattress.Atlengththeoldwomanwiththelanternstopped,andCharitysawthelightfallonthestoopingshouldersofthebearersandonaridgeofupheavedearthoverwhichtheywerebending.Mr.Milesreleasedherarmandapproachedthehollowontheothersideoftheridge;andwhilethemenstoopeddown,loweringthemattressintothegrave,hebegantospeakagain.

           “Manthatisbornofwomanhathbutashorttimetoliveandisfullofmisery....Hecomethupandiscutdown...hefleethasitwereashadow....Yet,OLordGodmostholy,OLordmostmighty,OholyandmercifulSaviour,deliverusnotintothebitterpainsofeternaldeath....”

           “Easythere...isshedown?”pipedtheclaimanttothestove;andtheyoungmancalledoverhisshoulder:“Liftthelightthere,can’tyou?”

           Therewasapause,duringwhichthelightfloateduncertainlyovertheopengrave.SomeonebentoverandpulledoutMr.Miles’scoat——(“No,no—leavethehandkerchief,”heinterposed)—andthenLiffHyatt,comingforwardwithaspade,begantoshovelintheearth.