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Updated: May 3, 2025
Day was breaking; the moon, but an hour back a globe of polished silver, had now no light left in her, and stole, a misty ghost, across the dun-coloured sky. A bank of clouds that had had their night-camp on the summit of Mount Warrenheip was beginning to disperse; and the air had lost its edge. He walked out beyond the cemetary, then sat down on a tree-stump and looked back.
No, I says, 'don't do that neither! Bury me, I says, 'in a Chinee cemetary. The Chinees, I says, 'puts vittles on the graves of their dear departeds, instead of flowers. Maybe, I says, 'my ghost will walk at night, I says, 'and eat chop suey. "'Wait, he says, 'don't go yet. Look yonder, he says, pointing up Main Street on the other side. 'Read that sign, he says.
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