Having ushered the visitor from the premises, Mrs. Colebrook joined her daughter, for immediately following Sir John had come a grimy little boy with a grimy little package. Mrs. Colebrook had spent an ecstatic five minutes in her kitchen revelling in the fruits of authorship.
"I've got something to show you, Christina," she held the something coyly under her apron. "It was my own idea—I didn't expect them so soon—came just after I'd left you and Sir What's-his-name."
"What is it, mother?"
Mrs. Colebrook drew from its place of concealment a double-leafed card. It was edged with black and heavy black Gothic type was its most conspicuous feature Christina read:
In loving memory of Ambrose Sault,
Who departed this life on March 17, 19—
at the age of fifty-three
Mourned by all who knew him
"We ne'er shall see his gentle smile,
Or hear his voice again,
Yet in a very little while,
We'll meet him once again."
Christina put down the card.
"I made that up myself," said Mrs. Colebrook proudly, "all except the poetry, which I copied from poor Aunt Elizabeth's funeral card. I think that verse is beautiful."
"I think it is prophetic," said Christina, and added inconsequently, as Mrs. Colebrook thought, "I wonder if Ronnie is coming today?"