Ratcliffe shifted from foot to foot, as if in doubt whether it were worth his while to pick a quarrel with the want-wit fellow; then, thinking better of it, he turned as if to leave. "One spot is as good as another, I take it?" he said. "And haply thy work will lie nearer the yew-trees here, where the Wayne vault hugs tha causeway. By-the-bye, Sexton, when do they bury Wayne of Marsh?" he asked, with a sly carelessness that was not lost on Witherlee. "To-morn." "About noon, will it be?" "About nooin," answered the Sexton. "Ye’ll let th’ burying go forrard peaceable-like?" he added, after a pause. His face looked dreamy as ever, nor could an onlooker have guessed that he was eyeing the other narrowly. Ratcliffe started at the plain question, then laughed. "Of course. Are we wild beasts, thou fool, to stand between any man and decent burial? Look ye, Witherlee, thou hast a dreamer’s privilege to ask odd questions, or I would have cracked thee on the mouth for that. What is’t to thee whether we do this or that?" "It’s a deal to me," said Witherlee, an odd dignity stiffening his shrivelled body. "There’s a place for everything, Maister Ratcliffe, an’ all goes i’ this world, not by what’s done, but by th’ place where it’s done. If I meet ye on th’ oppen high-road, I’ll mebbe touch my hat to ye, an’ axe no better; if I’m i’ th’ house, I’ll tak a lot o’ talk fro’ th’ wife an’ say nowt, for a house is th’ woman’s, not th’ man’s; but here i’ th’ kirkyard I’m my own midden, i’ a way o’ speaking, and I’ll stand interference fro’ no man—no, not fro’ Parson hisseln, for he’s getten th’ kirk, an’ that’s his place. So now ye know, Maister, why I axe if ye’ll let th’ burying get safely owered wi’ afore ye fight—I couldn’t thoyle to see outrageous doings amang my quiet folk here; they’ve addled their rest, poor soul and ’twould be no way seemly to disturb them." "Thou’rt a thought witless, Sexton, as I’ve often heard folk say," laughed Ratcliffe. "Well, I keep different company fro’ most folk, and so am like to be a bit queer i’ my ways. Have your joke, Maister, an’ welcome, so long as ye’ll let my work at th’ vault here go peaceable to-morn." "’Twas only thy daft fancy bade thee fear aught else. Put this coin in thy pocket, Witherlee, and let it remind thee there’s a grave to be digged come Monday." "Thankee, an’ good-day. I’ll none forget th’ grave," said Witherlee, holding the coin gingerly between a thumb and forefinger. "Have they a spare horse at the Bull, think’st thou? I’m going to the tavern now to take the body up to Wildwater, and dead men weigh over-heavy to be carried like maids across one’s saddle-crupper."