"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?"