But Peer marked his line, and ran
forward, thrusting people aside, upsetting those in his way, and dashing
on again. In King Street he came in sight of the cart once more, nearer
this time. The man walking behind it with his hat in his hand had red
curling hair, and walked with a curtsying gait, giving at the knees and
turning out his toes. No doubt he made his living as mourner at funerals
to which no other mourners came. As the cart turned into the churchyard
Peer came up with it, and tried to follow at a walk, but stumbled and
could hardly keep his feet. The man behind the cart looked at him.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked. The driver looked round, but
drove on again at once.
The cart stopped, and Peer stood by, leaning against a tree for support.
A third man came up--he seemed to be the gravedigger--and he heard the
three discussing how long they might have to wait for the parson. "The
time's just about up, isn't it?" said the driver, taking out his watch.
"Ay, the clerk said he'd be here by now," agreed the gravedigger, and
blew his nose.
Soon the priest came in sight, wearing his black robe and white ruff;
there were doubtless to be other funerals that day. Peer sank down on a
bench and looked stupidly on while the coffin was lifted from the cart,
carried to the grave, and lowered down. A man with spectacles and a red
nose came up with a hymn-book, and sang something over the grave. The
priest lifted the spade--and at the sound of the first spadeful of earth
falling on Louise's coffin, Peer started as if struck, and all but fell
from his seat.
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