“You know his faults. He was given to hasty wrath, to stubbornness and violence. His hand was heavy. If there are any here who have been wronged by this dead man—as I think most like—let the memory of it be buried in this grave. It was never his way to walk blameless. He did many things amiss; he took wrong turnings. But he was never too proud to turn back, to admit a mistake or to right his wrongdoing. He paid for what he broke.
“For the rest—he fed the hungry, helped the weak, he nursed the sick and dug graves for the dead. Now, in his turn, it is fitting and just that no bought hand dug this grave, but that his friends and his foes did him this last service, and called pleasant dreams to his long sleep.
“We have our dear dreams, too. It can do no harm to dream that somewhere down the skies that brightness and fire and light still flames—but not for us.
“It is written that upon Mars Hill the men of Athens built an altar ‘to the Unknown God.’ It was well builded; and with no misgiving we leave our friend to the care—and to the honor—of the Unknown God.”
He stood back; and from the women who wept came one who did not weep, dry-eyed and pale; whose pitying hand dropped the first earth into the grave.
“Stardust to Stardust,” said Edith Harkey.
That night Pete Harkey stood by the big fireplace of the big lonesome house.
“Shall I light the fire, Edith?”