"My husband was killed at the battle of Gettysburg. He lies in Woodlawn Cemetery. I am never at home on Decoration Day. I am always on the road with the circus, so I cannot decorate the real grave."
"I understand," breathed the Circus Boy.
"Being unable to decorate my husband's real grave, I carry my grave with me. Each Memorial Day morning I prepare my grave here in the dressing tent, and decorate it as you see here, and all my friends of the circus are very good and thoughtful on that occasion."
"How long have you been with the show—how many years have you been decorating this little property grave, Mrs. Waite?" asked Phil.
"Thirty years, Phil."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes, and it seems no more than two."
"Do you intend remaining with the show much longer—aren't you ever going to retire?"
"Yes. I am going to retire. I am getting old. I have laid up enough money to keep me for the rest of my life, and I am going to take a rest after two years more with this outfit."
"I am afraid you will miss the show," smiled the lad.