Towards evening Joe Biggins went softly along the lane, and on seeing him at the gate, Tom Morrison went to meet him, and returned his friendly grip, the visitor standing afterwards, as before, perfectly silent and looking down at the walk. "You've come to say something to me," said Tom at last, in a quiet, resigned way. "Amen to that, Tom; I have," said the other, in a low voice. "I thought I should see you here. About to-morrow aft'noon." "Yes," said the wheelwright, quietly. "I don't like troubling you about it, lad," said Biggins, "only I must. I wanted to tell you, you know. You see, I must be up at church, and if you hear from parson, why, I shall meet you all right; if you don't hear from him, there'll be the little mourning coach all ready waiting to take you all to Gatton. I've seen to everything. That's all." He was going off on tiptoe, but Morrison stopped him, to press his hand with a strong man's hearty grip; and he walked with him to the gate. "Call in when you go up to the church in the morning," he said, quietly; and then they parted. It was quite dark before the wheelwright had finished his work in the garden, and went in to the evening meal, to be met by his wife's searching look. He shook his head sadly, as he bent down and kissed her. "No, my lass," he said, "Joe brought no message." Polly began to weep, the tears flowing fast, till she saw Budge's face working, ready for a tremendous howl, when, mastering her emotion, she sat down with her husband to the table where their evening meal was spread. An hour later, husband and wife, hand in hand, ascended to the death chamber, where, with the moonlight full upon it, lay the tiny coffin, bathed in a silvery flood of light. Biggins had obeyed his friend's instructions, even as if it had been for one of his own, and the simple silver ornamentation shone upon the coarse white cloth. The tear-blinded pair lingered for a few moments without approaching their sacred dead; but at last they stood beside it, and the young mother removed the lid that lightly pressed the flowers which covered the tiny breast. Their loving lips kissed, for the last time, the cold, waxen forehead; and a groan escaped from Polly's heart as the lid was replaced closely, this time by the father's hands. "Hush, Polly," he whispered, "you said you would be strong." "I will, I will," she sighed. And they stood for a few moments, hand clasped in hand, with the silence only broken by a smothered sob from below. At last, reverently taking the little coffin in his arms, Tom Morrison bore it slowly down the stairs, followed by his weeping wife, who held something white in her hands, and this she laid over the coffin like a little pall. Poor Budge was there, trying hard to keep down her grief, but a wail would burst forth; and covering her mouth tightly with her hands, she darted away into the back kitchen.