"Just what is it, Mrs. Freshett?" asked mother.

"It's two men sellin' a patent iron kiver for to protect the
graves of your dead from the sun an' the rain."

"Who wants the graves of their dead protected from the sun and
the rain?" demanded my mother sharply.

"I said to Josiah, `I don't know how she'll feel about it, but I
can't do more than ask.'"

"Do they carry a sample? What is it like?"

"Jest the len'th an' width of a grave. They got from baby to
six-footer sizes. They are cast iron like the bottom of a cook
stove on the under side, but atop they are polished so they shine
somethin' beautiful. You can get them in a solid piece, or with
a hole in the centre about the size of a milk crock to set
flowers through. They come ten to the grave, an' they are mighty
stylish lookin' things. I have been savin' all I could skimp
from butter, an' eggs, to get Samantha a organ; but says I to
her: `You are gettin' all I can do for you every day; there lays
your poor brother 'at ain't had a finger lifted for him since he
was took so sudden he was gone before I knowed he was goin'.' I
never can get over Henry bein' took the way he was, so I says:
`If this would be a nice thing to have for Henry's grave, and the
neighbours are goin' to have them for theirn, looks to me like
some of the organ money will have to go, an' we'll make it up
later.' I don't 'low for Henry to be slighted bekase he rid