"Why don't you 'av a polished pitch pine wi' brass fittin's? Thiccy stuff was only landed last week." He touched the wood with spatulate hands, the hands of the craftsman. Next to his beer he loved 'a bit o' seasoned wood.' "You wouldn't wish for a handsomer coffin than that 'uld make."
"Pitch pine is more like it," agreed the buyer. "What would it cost?"
"I dunno as I could tell 'ee to a pound or two. There's a lot o' things to consider. There's the linin's and the fittin's; and then there's the gloves for the bearers and their 'arf crowns. Was you thinkin' to 'av one set of bearers or two?"
"'Tis a braäve way to Church Town and the missus was a big woman, I think we better 'av the two."
"Sixteen half-crowns is a good bit. That'll make two pound. You see that tally up."
"Well, 'av it done decent, but she wouldn't like no show nor fuss. I know she wouldn't."
"We'll 'ave it plain as possible then." He made a note on the wood itself and then stood thoughtful. "When would you like to 'av it?"
"Mrs. Rosevear said I'd better leave it to you."
Henwood tapped his teeth with the broad wood pencil. "Weather's braäve and cold," he said meditatively, "but if she died off sudden——"
"She done 'er day's work as usual and ate a good supper but doctor said 'twas 'er 'eart. Accident must 'av strained it. 'E didn't think she'd live so long as she 'av."