Mr. Torp turned his head slowly towards him. “It may be a good world,” he remarked sententiously, “and it may be a bad world, but it’s the world ; and us has got to handle ’un with eyes in our heads for landslides. My job mayn’t be the job you’d choose. It mayn’t be the job I’d choose, if others offered. But it’s my job. And anyone, Mr. Solent, with a job like mine can’t afford to stir up trouble among they dead. I were the man who made the headstone for’n. I ask ’ee, should I go spreading trouble about thik quiet lad? They said, when his funeral-day came, that he’d got no relation to mourn for’n. Who, then, I ask ’ee, Mr. Solent, is to hold their tongue, i’ the peace of God, about the poor young man, if it bain’t me wone self, who chipped the stone what covers him?”