Hazel hated a burying, for then she had to go with Abel to help in carrying the coffin to the house of mourning. They set out on the second day after her return. The steep road down to the plain--called the Monkey's Ladder--was a river, for a thaw had set in. But Hazel did not mind that, though her boots let in the water, as she minded the atmosphere of gloom at old Samson's blind house. She would never, as Abel always did, 'view the corpse,' and this was always taken as an insult. So she waited in the road, half snow and half water, and thought with regret of Undern and its great fire of logs, and the green rich dress, and Reddin with his force and virility, loud voice, and strong teeth. He was so very much alive in a world where old men would keep dying. Abel came out at last, very gay, for he had been given, over and above the usual payment, glove-money and a glass of beer. 'Us'll get a drop at the public,' he said. So they turned in there. Hazel thought the red-curtained, firelit room, with its crudely coloured jugs and mugs, a most wonderful place. She sat in a corner of the settle and watched her boots steam, growing very sleepy. But suddenly there was a great clatter outside, the sound of a horse, pulled up sharply, slipping on the cobbles, and a shout for the landlord. 'Oh, my mortal life!' said Hazel, 'it met be the Black Huntsman himself.' 'No, I won't come in,' said the rider, 'a glass out here.' Hazel knew who it was. 'Can you tell me,' he went on, 'if there's any young lady about here with auburn hair? Father plays the fiddle.' 'He's got it wrong,' thought Hazel. 'Young lady!' repeated the landlord. 'Hawburn? No, there's no lady of that colour hereabouts. And what ladies there be are weathered and case-hardened.' 'The one I'm looking for's young--young as a kitten, and as troublesome.' Hazel clapped her hands to her mouth. 'There's no fiddler chap hereabouts, then?' Abel rose and went to the door. 'If it's music you want, I know better music than fiddles, and that's harps,' he said. 'Saw! saw! The only time as ever I liked a fiddle was when the fellow snabbed at the strings with his ten fingers--despert-like.' 'Oh, damn you!' said Reddin. 'I didn't come to hear about harps.' 'If it's funerals or a forester's supper, a concert or a wedding,' Abel went on, quite undaunted, 'I'm your man.' Reddin laughed. 'It might be the last,' he said. 'Wedding or bedding, either or both, I suppose,' said the publican, who was counted a wit. Reddin gave a great roar of laughter. 'Both!' he said. 'Neither!' whispered Hazel, who had been poised indecisively, as if half prepared to go to the door. She sat further into the shadow. In another moment he was gone. 'Whoever she be,' said the publican, nodding his large head wisely, 'have her he will, for certain sure!'