a noble man to meet such a tragic death? It is not ours to reason why.
We simply bow our hearts to the will of the divine."

"And now, to the bereaved I would say, Weep not as those who have no
hope. (Mrs. Gramps weeps aloud.) Brother Gramps is just gone on before.
He has crossed over Jordan, where he waits on the sunny banks of sweet
deliverance. Just a few more days and we shall join him. He has gone
where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary be at rest. Let us
pray. Brother Bonds, lead us."




CHAPTER XII


Twelve moons had rolled by since the Gramps funeral. The blue-grass sod
had already grown quite snugly over the year-old mound in the cemetery
back of the white church on the hill. The rose-bush at the head of the
mound had bloomed once and the June breeze had sprinkled its pink petals
over the green carpet. A more or less expensive tombstone stood modestly
at the head of the mound and silently announced to the passer-by what
any tombstone is supposed to announce, namely that somebody sleeps
beneath this mound. During the year many persons had stood with bared
heads and read through tears this inscription: J.D. Gramps, Born April
21, 1856--Died June 13, 18--. "They rest from their labors; and their
works do follow them."

The Gramps premises began to show signs of decay. The fences were in
need of repair and the hillside portions of the farm had been washed in