Mr. Cruncher’s apartments were not
in a savoury neighbourhood, and were but two in number, decently kept by a woman
of orderly and industrious appearance, who rejoiced in the title of Mrs.
Cruncher. When Mr. Headstone gave a double knock on the door at the appointed
time, he inadvertently interrupted the lady of the house in the cleaning of her
husband’s boots. As was his custom, Mr. Cruncher sat by the fire, devoting
himself to keeping a most vigilant watch on his wife, and sullenly holding her
in conversation that she might be prevented from meditating any petitions to
his disadvantage. For Mrs. Cruncher did not approve of her husband’s trade, and
could be most aggravating on the subject – to such a degree, in fact, that Mr.
Cruncher was obliged to keep an iron pot-lid by him as a projectile for the
correction of opinions contrary to his own. The honest tradesman invited his
new apprentice to take a seat, explaining that they would not start upon their
excursion until one o’clock, that hour of darkness being best suited to their
purpose.
Towards that small and ghostly hour, Mr. Cruncher rose up from his
chair, took a key out of his pocket, opened a locked cupboard, and brought
forth a sack, a crowbar of convenient size, a rope and chain, and other
implements of that nature. Disposing these articles about him in a skillful
manner, he bestowed a parting defiance on Mrs. Cruncher, extinguished the
light, and, bidding Mr. Headstone to follow, went out.
Within half an hour from the first starting, they were beyond the
winking lamps and out upon a lonely road, where another practitioner of the
trade was waiting to join them. The three went on until they stopped under a
bank overhanging the road. Upon the top of the bank was a low brick wall,
surmounted by an iron railing. In the shadow of bank and wall they turned out
of the road, and up a blind lane, of which the wall – there, risen to some
eight or ten feet high – formed one side.
Halfway down the lane they came to an iron gate, which was locked. Mr.
Headstone, who as the apprentice of the group had been deputised to carry the
sack, was grateful of the opportunity to set down his load. The disturbance
this occasioned – for the sack contained a quantity of ironmongery – appeared
to alarm his two companions, who looked up and down the lane as if they
expected an immediate hue and cry. The night was still and with the exception
of the shivering call of an owl and the distant bark of a dog all was quiet.
Mr. Headstone peered through the bars of the gate and descried amongst the rank
grass the rounded hulking shapes of gravestones, whitened by the moonlight.
Before the schoolmaster could ask Mr. Cruncher what business brought
them to a churchyard in the dead of night, that honest tradesman had nimbly
scaled the gate and dropped softly on the hallowed ground on the other side. He
motioned for his companions to follow, which they did; one with ease, as if he
were accustomed to the action; the other with difficulty, accompanied by a
further cacophony of ironmongery. Mr. Cruncher led the way amongst the tombs
until they came to a large grave of marble. The freshly turned earth beneath
the stone suggested that the occupant of the plot had but recently settled in
the neighbourhood. The honest tradesman now took command of the sack and from
it produced three spades, which he distributed. On receiving his
implement and being urged to start digging, Mr. Headstone realized what
business he was about, and that his new trade lay in the resurrection line.
