The other, like himself a
bachelor, was Billy Skidmore, the sexton of the church, and, therefore, the
regulator of the town clock upon the steeple.
There came a great shock to Tommy one day. As old Mrs. Sparks said, Jerry
Hurley, "all sudden-like, just took a notion and died."
The wealth and standing of Jerry Hurley insured him an imposing funeral.
They laid his body beside that which had once been his wife in Rearward
cemetery. His heirs possessed his farm, and time went on--slowly as it
always does at Rearward. Tommy went frequently to Hurley's grave and
wondered when his heirs would erect a monument to his memory. It is
necessary that your grave be marked with a monument if you would stand high
in that still society that holds eternal assembly beneath the pines and
willows, where only the breezes speak, and they in subdued voices.
Years passed, and the grave of Tommy's old friend, Jerry, remained
unmarked. Jerry's relatives had postponed the duty so long that they had
grown callous to public opinion. Besides, they had other purposes to which
to apply Jerry's money. It was easy enough to avoid reproach; they had only
to refrain from visiting the graveyard.
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