THE TAILOR'S SISTER'S TOMBSTONE 



and laughed. " He's been and told you that, sir ? 

 Well, I never did ! " 



We went out of the back door and into a second 

 flower garden rivalling the one in front for a display 

 of colour. There, sure enough, stood the tombstone, 

 grey and upright, planted in a bed of flowers. They 

 seemed to hurl themselves at the grim object, wave 

 upon wave of coloured joy washing the feet of the 

 emblem of Death. 



" There she is," said the tailor's sister proudly. 



" Please tell me about it," said I, wondering at her 

 cheerfulness. 



" You see, sir," she began, " before Tom and I came 

 into our fortune, and got rich- " 



Multi-millionaires, I thought, could you but hear 

 that 1 But they were rich — as rich as any one could 

 be. The flowers in the garden were worth a kingdom. 



" — We used to wonder what we'd do if we ever had 

 a bit of money. Of course, we never dreamed of any- 

 thing like this." Her eyes wandered proudly over her 

 possessions. 



" Yes," said the tailor, joining in. " Our best dreams 

 never came near this. I'd seen such places, but never 

 thought to live in one, much less own one." 



" Well, you see, sir," said his sister taking up the 

 thread of her story, " there was one thing I'd always 

 set my mind on — a nice place to lie in when I was dead. 

 I had a horror of cemeteries, great ugly places, as you 

 might say, with the tombstones sticking up like almonds 

 in a tipsy cake pudding, and a lot of dirty children 

 playing about. I lived for ten years in London, in a 

 room that overlooked one, a most dingy place I called 

 it. I couldn't bear to think I'd be popped in with a 

 crowd, anyhow. Now, a churchyard in the country — 

 that's quite different." 



49 a 



