ceremony. That "stuck-up fellow, Sir
John," had just behaved as he always did,
neither better nor worse: could not leave
town, and all that. Many's the bottle he'd
had at this house. Not a word of sending
his carriage even. The captain said he
always thought he had "the soul of a
snipe;" and the brave Tom, who seemed
to be now raised into an authority, said it
seemed to him "damned low." The man
with the beard said that was it: he began
low and he'd end low. Then, in the same
enjoyable way, they talked over "Dobbyn,"
who had "done everything nicely, capitally,
and quietly." No fuss, you know. She,
poor thing (and they motioned up to the
ceiling), was for having Fulkes, of London,
down, and doing it in the swell, reckless
style, bring down his own men, and all
that. ("Folly, folly," said the captain.)
Ridiculous. Why, Dobbyn, here, has done
it just as well, and for half the money. "I
can make my own terms with him." Then
they spoke of other arrangements. How
well the dean had behaved; he had written
in the handsomest way (here his letter was
duly read out) to-day; "that their little
differences were all buried in the grave,
and that he would be glad to pay his last
tribute of respect by officiating." "To tell
you the truth," said our host, rubbing
his hands, "nothing could have fallen out
more nicely, for, really, to have that low
beast of a Busby grunting out the service,
would have spoiled everything. It was
very, very nice of the dean; it will give
quite an air, you know."

"I declare it was," said the captain,
"delicate and handsome; and it will read well
in the papers; a tip-top fellow like that."

"Indeed," said the other, secretly
rubbing his hands under the table, "everything
has fallen out in the nicest way."

That night I lay in a vast chamber in a
vast bed, with old red chintz curtains,
grown quite limp and soft. At one corner
I had to raise my voice to address the
captain, who was to occupy another vast
four-post structure at the other side. He
was quite in spirits, for he owned this
was one of the best houses for old whisky
in the country. I see him now bent over
his portmanteau, laying out his brushes
and razors for the morning, and talking
pleasantly as he did so. "I wonder how
it's going with the poor old boy up-stairs?"

Later, when he was getting into bed, he
said: "Egad, I'll lose my way here, if I
don't take care. Any way, these are
roomier quarters than the poor old Buck
has got into now. An' God forgive me.
Sure, I ought to be in grief, but by-and-by
they'll be coming to measure Uncle Jack.
Good night, my boy."

On the next morning I was up early. I
heard the rooks, chief mourners, very noisy
outside, and stole down. It was a very fine
fresh morning, and I was in delight with the
nobleness and grandeur of the place. The
solid, vast old trees, the rich demesne, the
noble openings, the grand old trunks, the
sweet air, the general sense of dignity and
magnificence—all this was new and even
overpowering to me. No one was abroad
save these early rooks, who might have
known there was a funeral on foot. Then
I got round by the back, towards where
the gardens lay, with a high brick wall
encircling them. The delight of that early
walk I did not soon forget.

By the time I returned it was past eight
o'clock, and I saw carriages winding up the
avenue already; a crowd of peasants and
beggars, for whom the day was a sort of
festival, were beginning to be grouped about
the door. Inside, it seemed to me, people
were always going up and down stairs; but
what most excited my curiosity and interest,
was a florid man, very eager and busy, who
was at work in the hall fitting long pieces
of crape "on all the gentlemen's hats." The
old retainers and Mr. John were equally
busy and excited in collecting such of these
articles as were absent from rooms
up-stairs. I noticed the nice anxiety of the
florid man that no one should be left out or
forgotten, and his evident trouble about
two missing ones, which could not "be
got, high or low," but now I trace this
feeling to a mere natural professional
anxiety. He had a box, too, of very
clumsily-shaped black gloves, which looked
as if they would fit no one, and no doubt
did not. But for Mr. John the transformation
was amazing. He was everywhere;
but he had undertaken with delight the
office, with assistance, of course, of fitting
on every coachman and footman an almost
massive white linen scarf and hat-band, of
which grotesque gear a perfect pile lay on
the hall table. The general alacrity and
air of business was surprising. Every
moment a carriage drove up, and, after due
setting down of the owner, the ceremony of
investiture of driver and footman was
proceeded with. The guest, I noticed, always
entered with a well-meant effort at
solemnity on his face, which was quite
thrown away on the audience. Every such
arrival Mr. Dobbyn surveyed narrowly, or