“And yo’ll knaw then what good it doos ta-alkin’.”  He paused, listening.  “They’ve coom,” he said.

There was a sound of scuffling on the stone floor below and on the stairs.  Mrs. Gale’s voice was heard out on the landing, calling to the men.

“Easy with un—­easy.  Mind t’ lamp.  Eh—­yo’ll never get un oop that road.  Yo mun coax un round corner.”

A swinging thud on the stone wall.  Then more and more desperate scuffling with muttering.  Then silence.

Mrs. Gale put her head in at the door.

“Jimmy, yo mun coom and gie a haand wi’ t’ coffin.  They’ve got un faasst in t’ turn o’ t’ stair.”

Through the open doorway Rowcliffe could see the broad shoulders of the coffin jammed in the stairway.

Jim, flushed with resentment, strode out; and the struggling and scuffling began again, subdued, this time, and respectful.  Rowcliffe went out to help.

Mrs. Gale on the landing went on talking to herself.  “They sud ’ave browt trestles oop first.  There’s naw place to stond un in.  Eh dear!  It’s job enoof gettin’ un oop.  What’ll it be gettin’ un down again wit’ ‘E layin’ in un?  ’Ere—­yo get oonder un, Jimmy, and ’eave un oop.”

Jim crouched and went backward down the stair under the coffin.  His flushed face, with its mournful, mystic eyes, looked out at Rowcliffe for a moment under the coffin head.  Then, with a heave of his great back and pushing with his powerful arms against the wall and stair rail, he loosened the shoulders of the coffin and bore it, steadied by Rowcliffe and the men, up the stair and into the room.

They set it on its feet beside the bed, propped against the wall.  And Jim Greatorex stood and stared at it.

Rowcliffe went down into the kitchen, followed by Mrs. Gale.

“What d’yo think o’ Jimmy, Dr. Rawcliffe?”

“He oughtn’t to be left alone.  Isn’t there any sister or anybody who could come to him?”

“Naw; ’e’s got naw sisters, Jimmy ’assn’t.”

“Well, you must get him to lie down and eat.”

“Get ‘im?  Yo can do nowt wi’ Jimmy.  ’E’ll goa ’is own road.  ’Is feyther an’ ‘e they wuss always quar’ling, yo med say.  Yet when t’ owd gentleman was taaken bad, Jimmy, ‘e couldn’ do too mooch for ’im.  ’E was set on pullin’ ’s feyther round.  And when ’e found ’e couldn’t keep t’ owd gentleman, ’e gets it on ‘is mind like—­broodin’.  And ’e’s got nowt to coomfort ’im.”

She sat down to it now.

“Yo see, Dr. Rawcliffe, Jim’s feyther and ’is granfeyther before ’im, they wuss good Wesleyans.  It’s in t’ blood.  But Jim’s moother that died, she wuss Choorch.  And that slip of a laass, when John Greatorex coom courtin’, she turned ’im.  ‘E was that soft wi’ laasses.  ’Er feyther ‘e was steward to lord o’ t’ Manor and ’e was Choorch and all t’ family saame as t’ folk oop at Manor.  Yo med say, Jim Greatorex, ’e’s got naw religion.  Neither Choorch nor Chapel ’e is.  Nowt to coomfort ’im.”