Half a crown! Few of us are rich enough in taste to have bought it.
After tea I begged leave to see the garden. “And, Miss Rose,” I said, “to hear about the tombstone, please.”
She put her small fat hands to her face and laughed and laughed. “He’s been and told you that, sir? Well, I never did!”
A COTTAGE GARDEN.
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! But they were rich—as rich as any one could be. The flowers in the garden were worth a kingdom.