Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
The young laughter pealed out through the open windows, and across the garden as far as the quiet place where old Gulielmus lay asleep—but it made no discordance there, because it only sang in the long grass above his head, the jolly creed of his lifetime: “Laugh when you can, and cry when you can’t, and trust God to make all right at the finish.”
“Don’t know why I’m going on like this,” said Norah, wiping her eyes.
“It’s never the funny things that do split your sides,” said Bill. “It’s always something just idiotic.”
“That little maid of yours thought we were going to crunch her bones next,” gasped Elizabeth.
Then they all started again. Again the young laughter pealed out over the quiet graves, saying “Life’s a jolly thing!” and there was, in that moment, an atmosphere in the room which seemed made up of beauty and hope and simple merriment.
Oddly enough, Andy himself suddenly thought of the grave beyond the yew hedge. It was almost as if Gulielmus had answered back that message of laughter with a splendid, “And death’s also jolly.”
But, of course, all this passed sub-consciously through Andy’s mind, and the only definite thought that reached him was embodied in his casual—
“There was another bachelor vicar here in 1687. A man called Will Ford.”
“I wonder if he gave luncheon parties,” laughed Elizabeth.