She didn’t raise no stun monument to Victor; no, the monument she raised up to his memory wuz built up in the grateful hearts of his people.
Upon them, his greatest care and thought when here, she spends all her life and her wealth.
She felt that she would ruther and he would ruther she would carve in these livin’ lives the words Love and Duty than to dig out stun flowers on a monument.
And she felt that if she wuz enabled to cleanse these poor souls so the rays of a divine life could stream down into ’em, it wuz more comfort to her than all the colors that wuz ever made in stained glass.
She might have done what so many do—and they have a right to do it, there hain’t a mite of harm in it, and the law bears ’em out—
She might have had lofty memorial winders wrought out of stained glass, with gorgeous designs representin’ Moses leadin’ his brethren through the Red Sea, or our Saviour helpin’ sinners to better lives—
And white glass angels a bendin’ down over red glass mourners, and rays of glass light a brightenin’ and warmin’ glass children below ’em.
There hain’t a mite of harm in this; and if it is a comfort to mourners, Genieve hadn’t no objection, and I hain’t. And the more beauty there is, natural or boughten, the better it is for this sad old world anyway.
But for her part, Genieve felt that she had ruther spend the wealth of her love and her help upon them that suffered for it.
