"Now, Ned, show mamma our eppytap."
"She means eppytarf," explained Ned, with a superior air, as he produced a board, on which he had printed with India ink the following words,—
"Here lies dear old Major. He was a good horse when he was young. But people were not kind to him when he was old. We made him as happy as we could. He loved us, and we mourn for him. Amen."
Ned's knowledge of epitaphs was very slight, so he asked mamma if this one would do; and she answered warmly,—
"It is a very good one; for it has what many lack,—the merit of being true. Put it up, dear, and I'll make a wreath to hang on the gravestone."
Much gratified, Ned planted the board at the head of the grave, Posy gathered the brightest leaves, and mamma made a lovely garland in which to frame the "eppytap."
Then they left old Major to his rest, feeling sure that somewhere there must be a lower heaven for the souls of brave and faithful animals when their unrewarded work is done.
Many children went to see that lonely grave, but not one of them disturbed a leaf, or laughed at the little epitaph that preached them a sermon from the text,—
"Blessed are the merciful."