"Sacred to the memory of
D.S. Plaisted,
who departed this life while in full health and curl papers.
His death was sudden,
but quite expected.
This monument was erected by one who fully realized his
WORTH-LESS-NESS.
Peace to his ashes."
A few moments of awful silence followed the reading of this inscription, then curses both loud and deep were heard in the room. With a bound he was out of bed, and opening the door he flung his tombstone over the baluster to the bottom of the stairs, with a crash that startled the family from their seats as if a thunderbolt had shaken the house.
Dexie disappeared instantly, knowing what the noise meant, but feeling thankful that there was no one near the stairs when the crash came, or she would have had to seriously repent her joke. As it was, the stairs were dinged and marred, and the fragments of the tombstone were strewn over the hall.
It did not take Plaisted long to dress that morning, and he soon appeared before the assembled family, his brow dark and his eyes flashing.
"Who did that?" he demanded as he made his appearance.
"That is just what we have been trying to find out," replied Mr. Sherwood, who thought he was referring to the noise.
"I mean, who put that stone in my room?"
"What stone? I hardly think you are awake yet, Plaisted," and he regarded him severely. "Do you know what time it is?"
Plaisted glanced at the clock, and his angry feelings were swallowed up in the feeling of shame that spread a flush over his face.
"Heavens! I never thought it was so late as that! So we have lost the train again by my carelessness. Too bad, Sherwood. But that joke was no light one. Did you put up that stone?"