So the red-haired man thrust Jemmy out at the castle gate, and he was just settling himself to sleep on a bench outside, when three men came by bearing a coffin.
“Oho, Jemmy Nowlan,” they said, “you are welcome. We just wanted a fourth man to carry the coffin.”
And they made him get under it with them, and away they marched over hedge and ditch, and field and bog, through briars and thorns, till they reached the old churchyard in the valley, and then they stopped.
“Who will dig a grave?” said one.
“Let us draw lots,” said another.
And the lot fell on Jemmy. So they gave him a spade, and he worked and worked till the grave was dug broad and deep.
“This is not the right place at all for a grave,” said the leader of the party when the grave was finished. “I’ll have no one buried in this spot, for the bones of my father rest here.”
So they had to take up the coffin again, and carry it on over field and bog till they reached another churchward, where Jemmy was obliged to dig a second grave; and when it was finished, the leader cried out—
“Who shall we place in the coffin?”
And another voice answered—