“Ye will be a wedding customer, sir, I’se warrant?”

“What makes you think so, friend?” replied the Master.

“I live by twa trades, sir,” replied the blythe old man—­“fiddle, sir, and spade; filling the world, and emptying of it; and I suld ken baith cast of customers by head-mark in thirty years’ practice.”

“You are mistaken, however, this morning,” replied Ravenswood.

“Am I?” said the old man, looking keenly at him, “troth and it may be; since, for as brent as your brow is, there is something sitting upon it this day that is as near akin to death as to wedlock.  Weel—­weel; the pick and shovel are as ready to your order as bow and fiddle.”

“I wish you,” said Ravenswood, “to look after the descent interment of an old woman, Alice Gray, who lived at the Graigfoot in Ravenswood Park.”

“Alice Gray!—­blind Alice!” said the sexton; “and is she gane at last? that’s another jow of the bell to bid me be ready.  I mind when Habbie Gray brought her down to this land; a likely lass she was then, and looked ower her southland nose at us a’.  I trow her pride got a downcome.  And is she e’en gane?”

“She died yesterday,” said Ravenswood; “and desired to be buried here beside her husband; you know where he lies, no doubt?”

“Ken where he lies!” answered the sexton, with national indirection of response.  “I ken whar a’body lies, that lies here.  But ye were speaking o’ her grave?  Lord help us, it’s no an ordinar grave that will haud her in, if a’s true that folk said of Alice in her auld days; and if I gae to six feet deep—­and a warlock’s grave shouldna be an inch mair ebb, or her ain witch cummers would soon whirl her out of her shroud for a’ their auld acquaintance—­and be’t six feet, or be’t three, wha’s to pay the making o’t, I pray ye?”

“I will pay that, my friend, and all other reasonable charges.”

“Reasonable charges!” said the sexton; “ou, there’s grundmail—­and bell-siller, though the bell’s broken, nae doubt—­and the kist—­and my day’s wark—­and my bit fee—­and some brandy and yill to the dirgie, I am no thinking that you can inter her, to ca’ decently, under saxteen pund Scots.”

“There is the money, my friend,” said Ravenswood, “and something over.  Be sure you know the grave.”

“Ye’ll be ane o’ her English relations, I’se warrant,” said the hoary man of skulls; “I hae heard she married far below her station.  It was very right to let her bite on the bridle when she was living, and it’s very right to gie her a secent burial now she’s dead, for that’s a matter o’ credit to yoursell rather than to her.  Folk may let their kindred shift for themsells when they are alive, and can bear the burden fo their ain misdoings; but it’s an unnatural thing to let them be buried like dogs, when a’ the discredit gangs to the kindred.  What kens the dead corpse about it?”

“You would not have people neglect their relations on a bridal occasion neither?” said Ravenswood, who was amused with the professional limitation of the grave-digger’s philanthropy.