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came Carl Foreman's hearse； its rear windows filled with flowers； then Tony Glick's 1965 Mercury； its deteriorating muffler bellowing and farting。 Behind that； in the next four cars； came relatives on both sides of the family； one bunch from as far away as Tulsa； Oklahoma。 Others in that long； lights…on parade included： Mark Petrie （the boy Ralphie and Danny had been on their way to see the night Ralphie disappeared） and his mother and father； Richie Boddin and family； Mabel Werts in a car containing Mr and Mrs William Norton （sitting in the back seat with her cane planted between her swelled legs； she talked with unceasing constancy about other funerals she had attended all the way back to 1930）； Lester Durham and his wife； Harriet； Paul Mayberry and his wife； Glynis； Pat Middler； Joe Crane； Vinnie Upshaw； and Clyde Corliss； all riding in a car driven by Milt Crossen （Milt had opened the beer cooler before they left； and they had all shared out a solemn six…pack in front of the stove）； Eva Miller in a car which also contained her close friends Loretta Starcher and Rhoda Curless； who were both maiden ladies； Parkins Gillespie and his deputy； Nolly Gardener； riding in the Jerusalem's Lot police car （Parkins's Ford with a stick…on dashboard bubble）； Lawrence Crockett and his sallow wife； Charles Rhodes； the sour bus driver； who went to all funerals on general principles； the Charles Griffen family； including wife and two sons； Hat and Jack； the only offspring still living at home。
Mike Ryerson and Royal Snow had dug the grave early that morning； laying strips of fake grass over the raw soil they had thrown out of the ground。 Mike had lighted the Flame of Remembrance that the Glicks had specified。 Mike could remember thinking that Royal didn't seem himself this morning。 He was usually full of little jokes and ditties about the work at hand （cracked； off…key tenor： 'They wrap you up in a big white sheet； an' put you down at least six feet。 。 。 。 '）； but this morning he had seemed exceptionally quiet； almost sullen。 Hung over； maybe； Mike thought。 He and that muscle…bound buddy of his； Peters； had certainly been slopping it up down at Dell's the night before。
Five minutes ago； when he had seen Cart's hearse ing over the hill about a mile down the road； he had swung open the wide iron gates； glancing up at the high iron spikes as he always did since he had found Doc up there。 With the gates Open； he walked back to the newly dug grave where Father Donald Callahan； the pastor of the Jerusalem's Lot Parish； waited by the grave。 He was wearing a stole about his shoulders and the book he held was open to the children's burial service。 This was what they called the third station； Mike knew。 The first was the house of the deceased； the second at the tiny Catholic Church； St Andrew's。 Last station； Harmony Hill。 Everybody out。
A little chill touched him and he looked down at the bright plastic grass； wondering why it had to be a part of every funeral。 It looked like exactly what it was： a cheap imitation of life discreetly masking the heavy brown clods of the final earth。
'They're on their way； Father；' he said。
Callahan was a tall man with piercing blue eyes and a ruddy plexion。 His hair was a graying steel color。 Ryerson； who hadn't been to church since he turned sixteen； liked him the best of all the local witch doctors。 John Groggins； the Methodist minister； was a hypocritical old poop； and Patterson； from the Church of the Latter…day Saints and Followers of the Cross； was as crazy as a bear stuck in a honey tree。 At a funeral for one of the church deacons two or three years back； Patterson had gotten right down and rolled on the ground。 But Callahan seemed nice enough for a Pope…lover； his funerals were calm and forting and always short。 Ryerson doubted if Callahan had gotten all those red and broken veins in his cheeks and around his nose from praying； but if Callahan did a little drinking； who was to blame him？ The way the world was； it was a wonder all those preachers didn't end up in looney…bins。
'Thanks； Mike；' he said； and looked up at the bright sky。 'This is going to be a hard one。'
'I guess so。 How long？'
'Ten minutes； no more。 I'm not going to draw out his parents' agony。 There's enough of that still ahead of them。'
'Okay；' Mike said； and walked toward the rear of the graveyard。 He would jump over the stone wall； go into the woods； and eat a late lunch。 He knew from long experience that the last thing the grieving family and friends want to see during the third station is the resident gravedigger in his dirt…stained coveralls； it kind of put a crimp in the minister's glowing pictures of immortality and the pearly gates。
Near the back wall he paused and bent to examine a slate headstone that had fallen forward。 He stood it up and again felt a small chill go through him as he brushed the dirt from the inscription：
HUBERT BARCLAY MARSTEN
October 6； 1889
August 12； 1939
The angel of Death who holdeth
The bronze Lamp beyond the golden door
Hath taken thee into dark Waters
And below that； almost obliterated by thirty…six seasons of freeze and thaw：
God Grant He Lie Still
Still vaguely troubled and still not knowing why； Mike Ryerson went back into the woods to sit by the brook and eat his lunch。
3
In the early days at the seminary； a friend of Father Callahan's had given him a blasphemous crewelwork sampler which had sent him into gales of horrified laughter at the time； but which seemed more true and less blasphemous as the years passed： God grant me the SERENITY to accept what I cannot change； the TENACITY to change what I may； and the GOOD LUCK not to fuck up too often。 This in Old English script with a rising sun in the background。
Now； standing before Danny Glick's mourners； that old credo recurred。
The pallbearers； two uncles and two cousins of the dead boy； had lowered the coffin into the ground。 Marjorie Glick； dressed in a black coat and a veiled black hat； her face showing through the mesh in the netting like cottage cheese； stood swaying in the protective curve of her father's arm； clutching a black purse as though it were a life preserver。 Tony Glick stood apart from her； his face shocked and wandering。 Several times during the church service he had looked around； as if to verify his presence among these people。 His face was that of a man who believes he is dreaming。
The church can't stop this dream； Callahan thought。 Nor all the serenity； tenacity； or good luck in the world。 The fuck…up has already happened。
He sprinkled holy water on the coffin and the grave； sanctifying them for all time。
'Let us pray；' he said。 The words rolled melodiously from his throat as they always had； in shine and shadow； drunk or sober。 The mourners bowed their heads。
'Lord God； through your mercy those who have lived in faith find eternal peace。 Bless this grave and send your angel to watch over it。 As we bury the body of Daniel Glick； wele him into your presence； and with your saints let him rejoice in you forever。 We ask it through Christ our Lord。 Amen。'
'Amen；' t