He had his prejudices against pauper burial, my
pal had, and he shrunk from going to the town and begging a grave for her.
He didn't need a doctor's certificate to tell him that life had gone
for ever from her fragile body. He knew that she had died of cold and
exhaustion.
"As he turned the base of the hill to begin to descend it, he saw in the
clouded moonlight a deserted railroad tool-house by the track. In front
of it lay a broken, rusty spade. He shouldered this and proceeded up the
mountain. It was a long walk, and he had to stop more than once to rest,
but he got to the top at last. There was a little clearing in the woods
here, where some one had camped. The ruins of a shanty still remained.
"My pal laid down the body of her who had been his wife, with the dead face
turned toward the sky, which was beginning to be cleared of its clouds.
Then he started to dig.
"It was a longer job than he had expected it to be, for my pal was tired
and numb. But the grave was made at last, upon the very summit of the
mountain.
"He lifted up the body of that brave girl, he kissed the cold lips, and he
took off his coat and wrapped it carefully about the head, so that the face
would be protected from the earth.
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