“He be goin’.” Felix saw the boulder move.
“One, two, dree!”
“War out!”
They spread right and left. Felix, who did not for the instant comprehend that “war out” meant “clear away,” had much ado to save his horse; for the boulder came with a rush, bringing with it half a ton of rubble, thud on the ground, which trembled.
“Aw, here a’ be!”
“This be uz yod!” (head.) “Warn this be uz chine!” holding up a part of the vertebrae.
“He wur a whopper, you!”
“The gyeaunt Goliar’, I’ll warn,” said the aged man on the bank.
“Don’t disturb the skeleton!” cried Felix, anxious to make scientific notes of the interment; whether the grave was “orientated,” or the knees drawn up to the chin; but in the scramble for the bones his voice was unheeded, and the skeleton was disjointed in an instant. The bones were as light as pith, ready to crumble to pieces and little better than dust, yet still retaining, as it were, a sketch of human shape.
“Drow um in this here,” said the landlord, as the buzz subsided, and holding out a stable-bucket which he had fetched. So skull and femur, radius and ulna—all the relics of poor humanity—were “chucked” indiscriminately into the stable-bucket.