He was buried in the church of the neighboring village, though it was
not the burying place of his race; but he had expressly enjoined that
he should not be buried with his family; he had quarrelled with the
most of them when living, and he carried his resentments even into the
grave.
I defrayed the expenses of the funeral out of my own purse, that I
might have done with the undertakers at once, and clear the ill-omened
birds from the premises. I invited the parson of the parish, and the
lawyer from the village to attend at the house the next morning and
hear the reading of the will. I treated them to an excellent breakfast,
a profusion that had not been seen at the house for many a year. As
soon as the breakfast things were removed, I summoned Iron John, the
woman, and the boy, for I was particular of having every one present
and proceeding regularly. The box was placed on the table. All was
silence. I broke the seal; raised the lid; and beheld--not the will,
but my accursed poem of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair!
Could any mortal have conceived that this old withered man; so
taciturn, and apparently lost to feeling, could have treasured up for
years the thoughtless pleasantry of a boy, to punish him with such
cruel ingenuity? I could now account for his dying smile, the only one
he had ever given me. He had been a grave man all his life; it was
strange that he should die in the enjoyment of a joke; and it was hard
that that joke should be at my expense.
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