The Vicar's dog, still howling, ran into the crypt.
"RUPERT!" said the Vicar, in a terrible voice, interrupting himself in the middle of a cheering platitude.

But he had no time to say anything more, for behind Rupert came a procession of perhaps a dozen people, all dressed in sheets.

Everybody saw at one pitiful glance that these were unfortunate householders, so suddenly roused from oblivion as to forget all their ordinary suburban dignity, probably barely escaping from ruined homes with their lives and a sheet each.

There was a very old man, a middle-aged spinster, and then an enormous group of children of ages varying from two months to twenty years, followed by their parents, teachers, or guardians.
A nearer gun began to fire, and one of the old ladies on the other side of the crypt suddenly threw down her knitting and began confessing her sins.

"Ow, I shall go to 'ell," she shouted dramatically.