He went slowly back along the bushy path, pausing now and then to pluck a raspberry, until he came to the kitchen. He hesitated a moment, then went in. Everything was as before--the old clock ticking hours of a bitter day just as regularly to their end as it had marked hours of happy holidays, or of careful common days; the kettle of dried apples sputtering on the stove; the hot loaf ready for supper; Dan’l depositing the evening’s milk on the dresser. But by the stove sat old Dempster, now doubly aged, stooping forward, his face covered with both his hands. Waddy hesitated about intruding his questions of business into the old man’s grief. However, he looked up more cheerily than Ira expected, and giving him a broad gripe of the hand, asked of his health very cordially. “I am so well,” said Mr. Waddy, “that I hope to save you the trouble of keeping me longer than to-night.” “Make yourself to home,” said Dempster. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. ’Tain’t in one day a man gits over bein’ wrecked. Besides, I kind er like to have someone ’round; it keeps the women folks from thinkin’ of their troubles. But if you’d oughter go, Jake ’ll drive you over to-morrow, over to Loggerly.” “Yes,” said Ira, “I think I must go. Is there anything I can do for you in Portland or Boston?” “Wal, I guess I’ll ask one thing; ’tain’t much, an’ you said my boy looked arter you a little, ’fore the schooner struck. There’s a spot down on the sheltered side of Black Rock Head, jest to the end o’ my meader, where I allers calkerlated to be buried, some day or other, along with the old woman. I can’t find my boy to bury him there,” he added simply, “but I’d like to put up somethin’ of a moniment t’ make us think of him. These gravestone pedlars don’t come very often to The Island; they tried it fer several years, but folks seemed t’ give up dyin’ and they didn’t git no orders. Wal, I wish when you git to Boston, you’d look ’round an’ buy me a handsome pair o’ stones, a big one with a round top fer the head, an’ a small one fer the feet, an’ have Willum’s name an’ age put on--I’ll write it down an’ Mirandy ’ll look up a text. Have ’em leave room enough below Willum’s for another name. When dyin’ once gits into a family, there’s no knowing where it ’ll stop. I feel as if there’d be some more on us goin’ afore long. They kin ship the stones in some of these coasters an’ I’ll pay fer ’em down to the custom house. ’Tain’t askin’ too much, I hope, mister?” “Certainly not,” said Ira, much affected and resolving that there should be no bill at the custom house. “I’ll see that it is done just as you wish.” “Thanky kindly,” said the old man. “When the stones come along, I’ll set ’em under the cedars. It’ll do mother an’ me a sight o’ good to see ’em an’ kind er make our boy seem near.”