- I mean you lean over the bank, you know, and sloush the things about in
the water."

The elder sister said that she was afraid that they hadn't got on dresses
suited to the work.

"Oh, they'll be all right," said he light-heartedly; "tuck `em up."
And he made them do it, too. He told them that that sort of thing was

half the fun of a picnic. They said it was very interesting.
Now I come to think it over, was that young man as dense-headed as we

thought? or was he - no, impossible! there was such a simple, child-like
expression about him!

Harris wanted to get out at Hampton Church, to go and see Mrs. Thomas's
tomb.

"Who is Mrs. Thomas?" I asked.
"How should I know?" replied Harris. "She's a lady that's got a funny

tomb, and I want to see it."
I objected. I don't know whether it is that I am built wrong, but I

never did seem to hanker after tombstones myself. I know that the proper
thing to do, when you get to a village or town, is to rush off to the

churchyard, and enjoy the graves; but it is a recreation that I always
deny myself. I take no interest in creeping round dim and chilly

churches behind wheezy old men, and reading epitaphs. Not even the sight
of a bit of cracked brass let into a stone affords me what I call real

happiness.
I shock respectable sextons by the imperturbability I am able to assume

before exciting inscriptions, and by my lack of enthusiasm for the local
family history, while my ill-concealed anxiety to get outside wounds

their feelings.
One golden morning of a sunny day, I leant against the low stone wall

that guarded a little village church, and I smoked, and drank in deep,
calm gladness from the sweet, restful scene - the grey old church with

its clustering ivy and its quaint carved wooden porch, the white lane
winding down the hill between tall rows of elms, the thatched-roof

cottages peeping above their trim-kept hedges, the silver river in the
hollow, the wooded hills beyond!

It was a lovely landscape. It was idyllic, poetical, and it inspired me.
I felt good and noble. I felt I didn't want to be sinful and wicked any

more. I would come and live here, and never do any more wrong, and lead
a blameless, beautiful life, and have silver hair when I got old, and all

that sort of thing.
In that moment I forgave all my friends and relations for their

wickedness and cussedness, and I blessed them. They did not know that I
blessed them. They went their abandoned way all unconscious of what I,

far away in that peaceful village, was doing for them; but I did it, and
I wished that I could let them know that I had done it, because I wanted

to make them happy. I was going on thinking away all these grand, tender
thoughts, when my reverie was broken in upon by a shrill piping voice

crying out:
"All right, sur, I'm a-coming, I'm a-coming. It's all right, sur; don't

you be in a hurry."
I looked up, and saw an old bald-headed man hobbling across the

churchyard towards me, carrying a huge bunch of keys in his hand that
shook and jingled at every step.

I motioned him away with silent dignity, but he still advanced,
screeching out the while:

"I'm a-coming, sur, I'm a-coming. I'm a little lame. I ain't as spry as
I used to be. This way, sur."

"Go away, you miserable old man," I said.
"I've come as soon as I could, sur," he replied. "My missis never see

you till just this minute. You follow me, sur."
"Go away," I repeated; "leave me before I get over the wall, and slay

you."
He seemed surprised.

"Don't you want to see the tombs?" he said.
"No," I answered, "I don't. I want to stop here, leaning up against this

gritty old wall. Go away, and don't disturb me. I am chock full of
beautiful and noble thoughts, and I want to stop like it, because it

feels nice and good. Don't you come fooling about, making me mad,
chivying away all my better feelings with this silly tombstone nonsense

of yours. Go away, and get somebody to bury you cheap, and I'll pay half
the expense."

He was bewildered for a moment. He rubbed his eyes, and looked hard at
me. I seemed human enough on the outside: he couldn't make it out.

He said:
"Yuise a stranger in these parts? You don't live here?"

"No," I said, "I don't. YOU wouldn't if I did."
"Well then," he said, "you want to see the tombs - graves - folks been

buried, you know - coffins!"
"You are an untruther," I replied, getting roused; "I do not want to see

tombs - not your tombs. Why should I? We have graves of our own, our
family has. Why my uncle Podger has a tomb in Kensal Green Cemetery,

that is the pride of all that country-side; and my grandfather's vault at
Bow is capable of accommodating eight visitors, while my great-aunt Susan

has a brick grave in Finchley Churchyard, with a headstone with a coffee-
pot sort of thing in bas-relief upon it, and a six-inch best white stone

coping all the way round, that cost pounds. When I want graves, it is to
those places that I go and revel. I do not want other folk's. When you

yourself are buried, I will come and see yours. That is all I can do for
you."

He burst into tears. He said that one of the tombs had a bit of stone
upon the top of it that had been said by some to be probably part of the

remains of the figure of a man, and that another had some words, carved
upon it, that nobody had ever been able to decipher.

I still remained obdurate, and, in broken-hearted tones, he said:
"Well, won't you come and see the memorial window?"

I would not even see that, so he fired his last shot. He drew near, and
whispered hoarsely:

"I've got a couple of skulls down in the crypt," he said; "come and see
those. Oh, do come and see the skulls! You are a young man out for a

holiday, and you want to enjoy yourself. Come and see the skulls!"
Then I turned and fled, and as I sped I heard him calling to me:

"Oh, come and see the skulls; come back and see the skulls!"
Harris, however, revels in tombs, and graves, and epitaphs, and

monumental inscriptions, and the thought of not seeing Mrs. Thomas's
grave made him crazy. He said he had looked forward to seeing Mrs.

Thomas's grave from the first moment that the trip was proposed - said he
wouldn't have joined if it hadn't been for the idea of seeing Mrs.

Thomas's tomb.
I reminded him of George, and how we had to get the boat up to Shepperton

by five o'clock to meet him, and then he went for George. Why was George
to fool about all day, and leave us to lug this lumbering old top-heavy

barge up and down the river by ourselves to meet him? Why couldn't
George come and do some work? Why couldn't he have got the day off, and

come down with us? Bank be blowed! What good was he at the bank?
"I never see him doing any work there," continued Harris, "whenever I go

in. He sits behind a bit of glass all day, trying to look as if he was
doing something. What's the good of a man behind a bit of glass? I have

to work for my living. Why can't he work. What use is he there, and
what's the good of their banks? They take your money, and then, when you

draw a cheque, they send it back smeared all over with `No effects,'
`Refer to drawer.' What's the good of that? That's the sort of trick

they served me twice last week. I'm not going to stand it much longer.
I shall withdraw my account. If he was here, we could go and see that

tomb. I don't believe he's at the bank at all. He's larking about
somewhere, that's what he's doing, leaving us to do all the work. I'm

going to get out, and have a drink."