CHILDREN OF SUSAN AND
PETER FAIRLAMB.”
“I guess I’d leave him out,” said Joe, straightening himself.
“But children must have a father.”
“There ain’t no need to say it, though, Dory. Susie she won’t like it.”
“Well, it isn’t my tombstone,” said Dorothy. “He wasn’t much use to them when he was alive; we’ll leave him out.” Untrammeled by the usages of the world, she put a pen through the statement of parental relation.
“What about the dates—the days they died, and their ages?”
“Derned if I know, except about Isaiah. It don’t matter none.” He was reflecting that the work before him might be reasonably lessened.
“It really don’t matter,” she returned. “But, Joe, don’t you want some verse out of the Bible? They most generally do put that.”
“It makes a heap of work, and my knife ain’t none too sharp. Make it short, anyways.”