The graveyard to which Rich now directed his steps was the original burying-place of the town; but another having been provided, in a more central location, it had been little used for years, and was overgrown with bushes and sweet fern, an occasional spruce or hemlock assuming almost the dimensions of a tree.

Narrow, in proportion to its breadth, one end of the lot approached the main road, the intervening space being level, and clear of obstructions, except near the gate, where the wall was fringed with spruce, sumach, and hazel bushes, a very dense clump of spruce and dwarf birch growing just beside the main entrance.

Notwithstanding the lonely situation and neglected aspect of the place, there were many very handsome monuments scattered over its surface. But the hands that reared them were mouldering in the dust, and their descendants, becoming interested in the new cemetery, the ancient graveyard seemed likely to return to its original state of [Pg 223]forest, and that indeed at no distant period, being already enclosed on three sides by a growth of majestic pines, whose roots, in several places, had flung down the wall. A few rods beyond the main entrance, the road, making a sharp turn, led up a hill.

Far removed from any habitation or sound of busy life, this resting-place of the departed lay reposing in the clear moonlight that seemed to embrace it, silvering with its wavy light the rough walls, the monuments of the dead, and the foliage, bathed in dew. So deep was the stillness, that the slow and painful tread of Rich on the hard-beaten road was distinctly audible.

He was about half way from the road to the gate, when all at once rang out with startling effect upon the still air,—

"Come here to me. What are you hangin' off there for, old Bright? Come here to me, or I'll put the cold iron into your liver."

The next moment his ears were greeted with that peculiar slat and jingle that ensues when the tongue cattle on the top of a hill throw up their heads in order to hold back a heavy load.

"Good heavens!" thought Rich; "I am beset indeed. It is Sam Waterhouse, with his four-ox team."

Regardless of his lame foot, he crept into the bunch of bushes near the gate, with the box and shovel. In a few moments a large dog came up[Pg 224] the hill, followed by Sam, who stopped his cattle opposite the gate, to let them breathe. The dog, in the mean time running along the road, came upon Richardson's track, and following it up to the bushes, began to bark furiously. Fearing discovery, Rich crept along through the scattering bushes, into the thicker growth, still proceeding in a line parallel with the main road, and not far from it. The dog, however, continued to follow, barking so furiously, that Rich, afraid that Waterhouse would come to see what the dog was barking at, stepped out into the road without attracting the notice of Sam, till he was within a few feet of him, who, supposing him to have come by the road from the village, exclaimed,—

"Good evenin', Mr. Richardson; or, ruther, mornin'; for I reckon it's mighty near daybreak. I was jest thinkin' of goin' ter see what the dog was barkin' at; thought may be 'twas a coon; they're apt to be out these moonlight nights; but I s'pose 'twas you he hearn. Didn't 'spect ter run foul o' you, this time in the mornin'. S'pose you had a sudden call. Doctors and teamsters, they must kalkerlate to be broke o' their rest, and folks say you're gettin' ter be quite a doctor, and Dr. Ryan speaks master well o' you."

"Sick and dying time, Mr. Waterhouse," said Rich, wishing to turn the conversation from himself, and not heeding the question of the other; "I wonder you should be going away with a team[Pg 225] when young Coolbroth is to be buried to-morrow."

"Wouldn't have gone for anything. 'Tain't to save money, nor 'arn money, but I'd 'greed to deliver these ere shooks, and was 'bleeged ter. Seems to me you limp. I can't see quite so well as I used ter, 'specially in the night, but I thought you favored that left foot somewhat."

"Yes; I have a sore foot."

"Jammed it? Jammed the nail off? 'Cause, if ye have, there's nothin' so good to take the soreness out as mullein leaves, steeped in new rum."

"I stepped into a rat trap in the dark."

"My songs! that's dreadful bad. Might give you the lockjaw. There's nothin' 'll take that ere iron rust out o' the flesh like the marrer (marrow) of a hog's jaw."

"I don't doubt it," said Rich, to whom this prosing was perfect agony; "but I must go on."

"So must I. Back, Bright! Her, Buck, up! Stan' up there, old Star."

Rich made as though he would have gone on, and soon enjoyed the satisfaction of hearing the sound of Sam's wheels die away in the distance; but when he again recovered his box and shovel, the gray light was streaking the eastern sky.

Flinging off both coat and vest, he strained every nerve to dig a hole in which to deposit the box at the same depth, and in the same place as before. In momentary expectation of seeing Pollard arrive,[Pg 226] he exerted himself till the sweat trickled down his cheeks, for, whenever he stopped to take breath, the early birds were singing in the trees around him.

He had scarcely time to deposit the last shovelful, and congratulate himself upon his success, when the sound of wheels was heard rapidly approaching, and Pollard, accompanied by another person, drove up to the graveyard gate.
In the Graveyard

In the Graveyard. Page 226.

Crouching behind tombstones and bush............