102 



THE RAT 



have adopted the ancient and honoured profession 

 of grave-digger instead. 



It seems only the other day that I saw them busy 

 over the body of one of my intermediate wives, who 

 had met with an unfortunate accident. They were 

 hard at work scooping away the ground underneath 

 her, and I thanked them for their kindly attention 

 to a helpless female. They asked me not to apolo- 

 gize, and said that they hoped to do the same for 

 me some day. Humorous little beggars they are, 

 but on that occasion I thought somehow that their 

 humour had a bit of sharp edge about it somewhere. 

 They must have Scotch blood in their veins. Per- 

 sonally, 1 prefer the Irish humour, which is smooth 

 and mellow all over. Jests ought to play like 

 kittens, and keep their claws within the sheath. 

 I asked them about the shroud, and they told me 

 that when they had got her fairly underground 

 they intended to be her shroud themselves, and 

 that sixty was about her measure, from which I 

 gathered that her flesh was not to be wasted, and 

 that she would make a meal for sixty. As there 

 were only twelve of them, I worked out the sum 

 to five meals apiece. I think that is right, is 

 it not '{ Poor wife ! she was always rather proud 

 of her small measures, and the idea of measuring 



