“Does the minister?”

“No, nor a minister.”

The changes of ecclesiastical administration had been so frequent of late that it was impossible to say what formula was now in the ascendent.  Ralph understood the old man’s laconic answers to imply a remonstrance, and he tried again.

“Do you preach in this church?”

“I preach?  No; I practise.”

It transpired after much wordy fencing, which was at least as irritating as amusing to a man in Ralph’s present temper, that there was no minister now in possession of the benefice, and that the church had for some months been closed, the spiritual welfare of the parishioners being consequently in a state of temporary suspension.  The old man who replied to Ralph’s interrogations proved to be the parish clerk, and whether his duties were also suspended—­whether the parishioners did not die, and did not require to be buried—­during the period in which the parish was deprived of a parson, was a question of more consequence to Ralph than the cause of the religious bankruptcy which the old man described.

Ralph explained in a few words the occasion of his visit, and begged the clerk to dig a grave at once.

“I fear it will scarce conform to the articles,” the clerk said with a grave shake of his old head; “I’m sore afraid I’ll suffer a penalty if it’s known.”

Ralph passed some coins into the old man’s hand with as little ostentation as possible; whereupon the clerk, much mollified, continued,—­

“But it’s not for me to deny to any Christian a Christian burial—­that is to say, as much of it as stands in no need of the book.  Sir, I’ll be with you in a crack.  Go round, sir, to the gate.”

Ralph and his companion did as they were bidden, and in a few minutes the old clerk came hurrying towards them from a door at the back of his house that looked into the churchyard.

He had a spade over his shoulder and a great key in his hand.

Putting the key into a huge padlock, he turned back its rusty bolt, and the gate swung stiff on its hinges, which were thick with moss.

Then Ralph, still holding the mare’s head, walked into the churchyard with Sim behind him.

“Here’s a spot which has never been used,” said the old man, pointing to a patch close at hand where long stalks of yarrow crept up through the snow.  “It’s fresh mould, sir, and on the bright days the sun shines on it.”

“Let it be here,” said Ralph.

The clerk immediately cleared away the snow, marked out his ground with the edge of the spade, and began his work.

Ralph and Sim, with Betsy, stood a pace or two apart.  It was still early morning, and none came near the little company gathered there.

Now and again the old man paused in his work to catch his breath or to wipe the perspiration from his brow.  His communicativeness at such moments of intermission would have been almost equal to his reticence at an earlier stage, but Ralph was in no humor to encourage his garrulity, and Sim stood speechless, with something like terror in his eyes.  “Yes, we’ve had no minister since Michaelmas; that, you know, was when the new Act came In,” said the clerk.