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Updated: May 2, 2025
"Wonder how long I'll last," he thought as he stood over the grave of the Rev. Charles and let his eyes wander over the little white gravestones that ran almost into the dark wall of St. Dreot Woods as though they were trying to hide themselves. "Wish the frost 'ud break ground'll be as hard as nails." The soil fell, thump, thump upon the coffin.
"The minister got off his hoss and hitched him and took off his coat and put it on the ground. "'What you goin' to do? I says. "'Me? says the minister. 'I be goin' to rassle with Satan for the soul o' that 'ar man, an' if you keep watch I reckon you'll see 'at the ground'll be scratched up some 'fore I git through.
Three inches to the left o' that, and three foot from the ground'll take him square in the breast, as he is probably kneeling down." Before him he noticed a deep gully cut in the bank, by which he could get down to the water's edge where there was a clump of paw-paws projecting out toward the willows.
What we got to do is to go as near as the ground'll let us, and then drive a trench." "Blow yer trenches! You always want trenches; you ought to ha' been born a rabbit Snippy." "Ain't they got any necks, then?" said a third, abruptly a little, contemplative, dark man, smoking a pipe. I repeated my description. "Octopuses," said he, "that's what I calls 'em.
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