It was
a part of the field not yet gleaned by the rescuing party. The ground,
especially on the margin of the wood, was full of inequalities--here
a pit, there a hillock surmounted with a bush of furze. It was a place
where many bodies might lie concealed, and they beat it like pointers
after game. Suddenly Morris, who was leading, paused and reached forth
his index with a tragic gesture. John followed the direction of his
brother's hand.
In the bottom of a sandy hole lay something that had once been human.
The face had suffered severely, and it was unrecognizable; but that was
not required. The snowy hair, the coat of marten, the ventilating cloth,
the hygienic flannel--everything down to the health boots from Messrs
Dail and Crumbie's, identified the body as that of Uncle Joseph. Only
the forage cap must have been lost in the convulsion, for the dead man
was bareheaded.
'The poor old beggar!' said John, with a touch of natural feeling; 'I
would give ten pounds if we hadn't chivvied him in the train!'
But there was no sentiment in the face of Morris as he gazed upon the
dead.
Pages:
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43