The gate was opened; the coffin brought into the churchyard; and Jack, whose eyes were filled with tears, saw Mr. Overcome by his affliction, Mr. All the same, I don’t admit it. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove.
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