Therefore, on a bright October morning, I concluded, if possible, to know more upon this point, and, disguised in the garb of a shabby-looking hunter, with a gun and dog borrowed of a friend for the occasion, I strolled off in the direction in which Pat had so often been in the habit of going. Before fairly reaching the woods, he and two of his companions passed me in a rough-looking vehicle, and soon after turned from the main road into the burial-ground. From a somewhat secluded spot, I could watch their movements tolerably well, and it soon became apparent that at least one of the objects of this trip was to place the marble stones--the payment for which had so singularly betrayed him--at the grave of his deceased child. The whole party were evidently under the effects of the "critter;" and the prospect seemed to be, that they would soon have occasion to mourn the departure of other beloved _spirits_, for the jug circulated freely, and a more jolly set of fellows, considering the lugubrious nature of their errand, is seldom met with. But when they arrived at the spot where the child was sleeping, their mirth grew less boisterous, and Pat in silence commenced his labor of love; and as he proceeded in his melancholy task, I could see that he refused to join his companions in further potations, for although their respect for the place, or for their friend's affliction, seemed to overcome for the time their rum-inspired loquacity, they did not cease to resort to the jug for strength to enable them to bear his grief, while sitting in the cart waiting for the completion of the task which brought them there. [Illustration] At length the little white stones stood in their places, showing, by the short distance between them, how brief was the passage from the cradle to the grave, of the being whose whole history, so far as concerned the world at large, was inscribed on these marble pages. A parent's heart, however, bears a different record; and after Pat had adjusted the turf about the little grave, and given the finishing touches to his work, he stood and gazed for a moment upon the resting place of his child, thinking--of what? Perhaps of the contrast between the guilty living and the innocent dead. Perhaps a flash from conscience glanced across his mind. At least he exhibited some external signs of emotion, for as he turned away to join his unconcerned companions, he brushed away a tear, and with it, perhaps, the softening influences that were at work upon his heart.