In the dusk the three names--black on the white--stood out with a stern and yet piteous distinctness.

The boy stood there feeling the silence--the tomb near by--the wonder and pathos of fame, and all that thrill of undefined emotion to which youth yields itself so hungrily.
The sexton startled him by tapping him on the shoulder.

'Time to go home, yoong man.

My sister she told me to say good neet to yer, and she wishes yo good luck wi your journey.

Where are yo puttin up ?' 'At the "Brown Bess,"' murmured the boy ungraciously, and hurried out.