"And I've come back to lay my bones in Sunwich
Churchyard," he concluded, pathetically; "that is, when I've done with
'em."
"A lot of things'll happen before then," said Hardy.
"I hope so," rejoined Mr. Nugent, piously; "my desire is to be buried by
my weeping great-grandchildren. In fact, I've left instructions to that
effect in my will--all I have left, by the way."
"You're not going to keep on at this water-side work, I suppose?" said
Hardy, making another effort to give the conversation a serious turn.
"The foreman doesn't think so," replied the other, as he helped himself
to some whisky; "he has made several remarks to that effect lately."
He leaned back in his chair and smoked thoughtfully, by no means
insensible to the comfort of his surroundings. He had not been in such
comfortable quarters since he left home seven years before. He thought
of the untidy litter of the Kybirds' back parlour, with the forlorn view
of the yard in the rear. Something of his reflections he confided to
Hardy as he rose to leave.
"But my market value is about a pound a week," he concluded, ruefully,
"so I must cut my coat to suit my cloth. Good-night."
He walked home somewhat soberly at first, but the air was cool and fresh
and a glorious moon was riding in the sky.
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