The rusted iron cross on the eastern gable of the
old church stood glowing lustreless in the westering sun; while the
gilded vane, whose business was the wind, creaked radiantly this
way and that, in the flaws from the region of the sunset: its shadow
flickered soft on the new grave, where the grass of the wounded
sod was drooping. Again seated on a neighbour stone, Malcolm found
his friend.
"See," said the schoolmaster as the fisherman sat down beside him,
"how the shadow from one grave stretches like an arm to embrace
another! In this light the churchyard seems the very birthplace of
shadows: see them flowing out of the tombs as from fountains, to
overflow the world! Does the morning or the evening light suit such
a place best, Malcolm?"
The pupil thought for a while.
"The evenin' licht, sir," he answered at length; "for ye see the
sun's deem' like, an' deith's like a fa'in asleep, an' the grave's
the bed, an' the sod's the bedclaes, an' there's a lang nicht to
the fore."
"Are ye sure o' that, Malcolm?"
"It's the wye folk thinks an' says aboot it, sir."
"Or maybe doesna think, an' only says?"
"Maybe, sir; I dinna ken."
"Come here, Malcolm," said Mr Graham, and took him by the arm, and
led him towards the east end of the church, where a few tombstones
were crowded against the wall, as if they would press close to a
place they might not enter.
"Read that," he said, pointing to a flat stone, where every hollow
letter was shown in high relief by the growth in it of a lovely
moss.
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