‘I was only saying a prayer,’ she answered.
‘A mighty lonesome place to say your prayers in,’ said the gravedigger, crossing himself. ‘Unless,’ he added as an afterthought, and more gently, ‘ye’ve any kith or kin lying here.’
‘No,’ said the woman; ‘I am a stranger.’
‘Well, good luck t’ ye, whoever y’ are,’ said the gravedigger. ‘I’ll just get the pick and the spade, and lave ye to your devotions.’ He jumped into an open grave at a little distance. ‘I can finish this in the morning,’ he added to himself. ‘Another two feet ’ll do it.’
‘Who’s to be buried there?’ she asked, as he clambered out with his tools in his hand.
‘A poor colleen that kilt herself for love. Leastways, she drowned herself, but wint out of her mind first, to make sure of Christian burial. Are ye livin’ hereabouts, my woman?’
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘I’ve a lodging down at the old mill.’
‘Musha!’ said the gravedigger, ‘that’s a lonesome place.’
‘The more fit, maybe,’ she answered, ‘for a lonesome woman.’
‘Will ye be going now?’ asked the man, looking at her with some anxiety.