a wedding.
Everything was as black as it should be; I never see'd finer horses, in
my life, with manes and tails reachin' a'most to the ground, and a
shinin' black hearse with a score of plumes on the top, and half a
dozen men with silk hatbands walking alongside it, right away from the
station to the churchyard yonder." And Allison threw a backward glance
over the billowy golden cornfields, which separated the village from
the church by a quarter of a mile, where the grand tower reared its
head as if keeping watch over the village like a lofty sentinel.

"There were lots of follerers, I expect?" suggested Macdonald, gently.
He was a Scotchman, and worked on the line, and he shifted his bag of
tools from his shoulder to the ground as he spoke. "A gentleman like
him would leave a-many to miss him."

Allison stared across at the river which ran swiftly by on the opposite
side of the road. The long village of Rudham skirted its banks
irregularly for a mile or more. The blacksmith had plenty of news to
communicate, but he was not to be hurried in the relating of it.

"I'm tryin' to recolleck," he said, knitting his brows, "but I can't
mind more than two principal mourners. And the undertaker, when he
stopped to water his horses at the inn, told Mrs. Lake as they was the
doctor and the lawyer; but, relations or no, they did it wonderful
well! Stood with their hats off all in the burnin' sun, and went back
to look at the grave when the funeral was over."

"The household servants was there--leastways the butler and footman,"
said Tom Burney, a dark-eyed, gipsy-looking young man, who was one of
the under-gardeners at the big house on the hill, "but not him as is
coming after."

"The question is who is a-comin' after?" said Allison, in a tone of
sarcastic argument. "Maybe you'll tell us, as you seem to know such a
lot about it?"

Burney coloured under his dark skin, and gave an uneasy little laugh.

"I know what I've heard, no more nor less," he said; "but it comes
first-hand from the butler of him who's gone."

Allison gave an incredulous sniff; he was not used to playing second
fiddle, and the heads of his listeners had turned to a man in the
direction of the last speaker.

"He hadn't no near relation, not bein' a married man," went on Burney,
enjoying his advantage; "and Mr. Smith--that's the butler--came and
walked round the garden until it was time for his train to go back to
London."

"He don't pretend