"Ye're right there," said he, "it's needed that a good many years. But we can't get no new ground. Old Bob Cromwell as owns the lands on that side won't sell, and Lord ---- won't give, so wot are yer to do? Why, I do believe as there's hundreds and thousands of people buried in this little churchyard. It's a big parish, too, and they've been burying their dead here since nobody knows when. Bones? Why, in some parts there's almost as much bones as there is clay. Yer puts in one, and yer digs up two: that's about what it comes to. I sometimes says to my missis, 'I wonder who they'll dig up to make room for me.' 'Yes,' she says, 'and I wonder who you'll be dug up to make room for.' It's scandalous, that's what I says." "But does the law allow you to disturb these old graves?" "It does when they're old _enough_. But you can't be over particular in a place no bigger than this. Of course, we're a bit careful like. But ask no questions, and I'll tell yer no lies." "But this grave you're digging now; how long is it since the last interment was made in the same ground?" "Well, that's a pretty straight 'un. That's what I call coming to the point!--Thank 'ee, sir--and good luck to you and yours!--However, since you seem a plain-dealing gentleman I'll tell you summat as I wouldn't tell everybody. You poke your stick about in that soil over there, and you'll find some bits as belonged to Sam Wiggin's grandfather on his mother's side." (I poked my stick as directed.) "That's his tooth you've got now; but I won't swear to it, as things had got a bit mixed, no doubt, afore they put him in. Wait a bit, though. What's under that big lump at the end o' my spade?" (He reached out his spade and touched a clod; I turned it over and revealed the thing it hid: he examined it carefully.) "You see, you can generally tell after a bit o' practice what belongs to what. Putting two and two together--what with them bones coming up so regular, and that bit o' coffin furniture right on the top on 'em--I reckon we've struck 'im much as he was put down in '62." "Are none of his relatives living?" I asked. "Why, yes, of course they're living. Didn't I tell yer he was grandfather to Sam Wiggin--that's 'im as farms the Leasowes at t'other end of the village. What'll he say?--why, nothing o' course. Them as sees nothing, says nothing." "But," I said, "if Sam comes to church next Sunday he'll see his grandfather's bones sticking out all over this grave." "'Ow's 'e to know they're his grandfather's? There's no name on 'em," said the sexton. "But surely he will remember that his grandfather was buried in this spot." "Not 'im! 'E don't bother 'is 'ead about grandfathers. Sam Wiggin! Doesn't know 'e ever had a grandfather. Somebody else might take it up? Not in this parish. Besides, we've all got used to it. Folks here is all mixed up wi' one another while they're living, so they don't mind gettin' a bit mixeder when they're dead."