heels, we must get him into the woods. I’m not going to have anybody find this.’
‘O, fudge!’ said John, ‘where’s the use?’
‘Do what I tell you,’ spirted Morris, as he took the corpse by the shoulders. ‘Am I to carry him myself?’
They were close upon the borders of the wood; in ten or twelve paces they were under cover; and a little further back, in a sandy clearing of the trees, they laid their burthen down, and stood and looked at it with loathing.
‘What do you mean to do?’ whispered John.
‘Bury him, to be sure,’ responded Morris, and he opened his pocket-knife and began feverishly to dig.
‘You’ll never make a hand of it with that,’ objected the other.
‘If you won’t help me, you cowardly shirk,’ screamed Morris, ‘you can go to the devil!’
‘It’s the childishest folly,’ said John; ‘but no man shall call me a coward,’ and he began to help his brother grudgingly.
The soil was sandy and light, but matted with the roots of the surrounding firs. Gorse tore their hands; and as they baled the sand from the grave, it was often discoloured with their blood. An hour passed of unremitting energy upon the part of Morris, of lukewarm help on that of John; and still the trench was barely nine inches in depth. Into this the body was rudely flung: sand was piled upon it, and then more sand must be dug, and gorse had to be cut to pile on that; and still from one end of the sordid mound a pair of feet projected and caught the light upon their patent-leather toes. But by this time the nerves of both were shaken; even Morris had enough of his grisly task; and they skulked off like animals into the thickest of the neighbouring covert.
‘It’s the best that we can do,’ said Morris, sitting down.
‘And now,’ said John, ‘perhaps you’ll have the politeness to tell me what it’s all about.’
‘Upon my word,’ cried Morris, ‘if you do not understand for yourself, I almost despair of telling you.’
‘O, of course it’s some rot about the tontine,’ returned
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