ng may have had some effect on him. It was a mingled
feeling that pervaded him. "Oh, Mr. George!" he said, just before
they went to the churchyard, "we are grass of the field, just grass
of the field; here to-day, and gone to-morrow; flourishing in the
morning, and cast into the oven before night! It behoves such frail,
impotent creatures to look close after their interests--half a
million of money! I'm afraid you didn't think enough about it, Mr.
George."

And then the Hadley bells were rung again; but they were not rung
loudly. It seemed to Bertram that no one noticed that anything
more than usually sad was going on. He could hardly realise it to
himself that he was going to put under the ground almost his nearest
relative. The bells rang out a dirge, but they did it hardly above
their breath. There were but three boys gathered at the little gate
before the door to see the body of the rich man carried to his last
home. George stood with his back to the empty dining-room fireplace:
on one side stood Mr. Pritchett, and on the other the Barnet doctor.
Very few words passed between them, but they were not in their nature
peculiarly lugubrious. And then there was a scuffling heard on the
stairs--a subdued, decent undertaker's scuffling--as some hour or two
before had been heard the muffled click of a hammer. Feet scuffled
down the stairs, outside the dining-room door, and along the passage.
And then the door was opened, and in low, decent undertaker's voice,
red-nosed, sombre, well-fed Mr. Mortmain told them that they were
ready.

"These are yours, sir," and he handed a pair of black gloves to
George. "And these are yours, sir," and he gave another pair to
the doctor. But the doctor held them instead of putting them on;
otherwise Mr. Mortmain could not be expected to change them after the
ceremony for a pair of lighter colour. They understood each other;
and what could a country doctor do with twenty or thirty pairs of
black gloves a year? "And these yours, Mr. Pritchett."

"Oh, Mr. George!" sighed Pritchett. "To think it should come to this!
But he was a good gentleman; and very successful--very successful."

There were not ten people in the church or in the churchyard during
the whole time of the funeral. To think that a man with half a
million of money could die and be got rid of with so little parade!
What money could do--in a moderate way--was done. The coffin was as
heavy as lead could make it. The cloth of the