The parson—Susannah had remained a Churchwoman—was some minutes late, and Jinny was gratified to note how strong her grandfather was: how pillar-like he stood in his long black mourner’s cloak under the weight of the coffin at the churchyard gate, while all the other bearers, his obvious juniors, shifted and sweated. Nor did he blubber either like the Commander, whose weakness, considering how often she had been adjured to be “spunky,” and not—now that she was “grown up”—to cry, was as disconcerting as the double existence of his wife in the coffin and the empyrean. However, Dap grew “good” again when the thrilling if still more disconcerting episode of lowering his Susannah as far as possible from the skies and banking her safely against ascent, was over; and—Daniel Quarles having gone vaguely roving over the churchyard—the widower led her stealthily in his absence to a stone behind the ruined tower—in the “unconsecrated” or Dissenting area—and read to her the inscription, following it for her confirmation with his black-gloved forefinger: HERE LIES ROGER BOLDERO AFTER MANY STORMY VOYAGES SAFELY NEAPED IN CHRIST. He arrested himself suddenly and whisked her round the tower. “But we didn’t read it all,” she protested. “Oh, it only says: ‘And also Emma Boldero, Wife of the Above.’ But don’t tell your grandfather.” The child wondered why she was to keep Emma’s relationship to the Above a secret—she had already gathered from her grandfather that he knew it—and she was distressed as well as puzzled at the strange quarrel that broke out in the homeward coach. “It ain’t at all a proper word,” said Daniel Quarles. “You might as well put ‘carted to Christ’ on mine.” “That’ll be your affair,” persisted the widower, “but this ain’t. And how you came to see it gets over me.” The Gaffer flushed uneasily. “Oi’ve got two eyes, I suppose,” he jerked. The naval veteran glared glassily. “Them that pay the piper call the tune,” he retorted defensively. “Besides,” he added more gently, “Emma always said she’d have it somehow on her tombstone.” “Emma was a silly.” “Hush!” Dap again indicated the child with his glassy eye, now trickling without the other as in half-mourning. “Oi won’t hush it up. That’s got to goo. The mason’s got to cut another for me. Who arxed you to pay pipers?” “Such a handsome stone to be torn up! It’s a desecration, it’s unlawful.” “Unlawful? Whose darter is she, mine or yourn?” “Not yours. You cut her off.” “She cut me off. And ef poor Pegs and you had done your duty by my gal, he’d ha’ never crossed your doorstep.” “He’d ha’ met her on the sea-wall. I couldn’t help his beholding her looks, any more than you could help having a handsome daughter—or for the matter of that, a handsome sister.” His handkerchief came out again.