Elfride perceived a man, sitting with his back towards herself, talking to her father.

She would have retired, but Mr.Swancourt had seen her.
'Come in,' he said; 'it is only Martin Cannister, come for a copy of the register for poor Mrs.Jethway.' Martin Cannister, the sexton, was rather a favourite with Elfride.

He used to absorb her attention by telling her of his strange experiences in digging up after long years the bodies of persons he had known, and recognizing them by some little sign (though in reality he had never recognized any).

He had shrewd small eyes and a great wealth of double chin, which compensated in some measure for considerable poverty of nose.
The appearance of a slip of paper in Cannister's hand, and a few shillings lying on the table in front of him, denoted that the business had been transacted, and the tenor of their conversation went to show that a summary of village news was now engaging the attention of parishioner and parson.
Mr.Cannister stood up and touched his forehead over his eye with his finger, in respectful salutation of Elfride, gave half as much salute to Stephen (whom he, in common with other villagers, had never for a moment recognized), then sat down again and resumed his discourse.
'Where had I got on to, sir ?' 'To driving the pile,' said Mr.Swancourt.
'The pile 'twas.

So, as I was saying, Nat was driving the pile in this manner, as I might say.' Here Mr.Cannister held his walking-stick scrupulously vertical with his left hand, and struck a blow with great force on the knob of the stick with his right.