THE TAILOR'S SISTER'S TOMBSTONE 



hundred yards distant from the village church. It 

 was about four of the afternoon. 



I was about to turn towards the village to ask my 

 best way to the tailor's cottage, when who should turn 

 the bend of the road but the tailor himself with all the 

 air of looking for some one. 



I grasped him warmly by the hand, and he held 

 mine in a good grip like the good fellow he was, saying, 

 " I was looking about for you, sir, thinking you might 

 have forgotten my direction " (as indeed, I had), " and 

 knowing you would most likely go to the village to in- 

 quire, I was on my way there." 



As we turned to walk down the road away from the 

 church, the tailor informed me his sister was all agog 

 to see me, but very nervous that I might think theirs 

 too poor a place to put up with, and she had, at the 

 last moment, implored him to take me to the inn in- 

 stead. 



The affection I had gained for the little man in my 

 few hours' talk with him made me certain I should be 

 happy in his company, and I laughed at his fears. 



" Why, man," said I, " I have walked a good hundred 

 miles to see you, do you think it likely I shall turn away 

 at the last minute ? " 



" There," cried the tailor, " I told her so. She's a 

 small body, you'll understand, sir, and gets worried at 

 times." 



We turned a corner and I saw before me one of the 

 prettiest cottages I have ever seen. A low, sloping roof 

 of thatch, golden brown where it had been mended, 

 rich brown and green in the older part. The body 

 of the cottage was white, with a fine tree of Cluster 

 Roses, the Seven Sisters, I think it is called, growing 

 over the porch and on the walls. The garden was 

 one mass of bloom, a wonderful garden as artists say, 



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