"Yes, but I wanted to ask you before I bound myself. I heard you
lost two when the scarlet fever was ragin' an' I'm goin' to do
jest what you do. If you have kivers, I will. If you don't like
them when you see how bright and shiny they are, I won't get any
either."

"I can tell you without seeing them, Mrs. Freshett," said my
mother, wrapping a strand of hair around the tin so tight I
slipped up my fingers to feel whether my neck wasn't like a buck-
eye hull looks, and it was. "I don't want any cover for the
graves of my dead but grass and flowers, and sky and clouds. I
like the rain to fall on them, and the sun to shine, so that the
grass and flowers will grow. If you are satisfied that the soul
of Henry is safe in Heaven, that is all that is necessary.
Laying a slab of iron on top of earth six feet above his body
will make no difference to him. If he is singing with the
angels, by all means save your money for the organ."

"I don't know about the singin', but I'd stake my last red cent
he's still hollerin' fur Grant. I was kind o' took with the
idea; the things was so shiny and scilloped at the edges, peered
like it was payin' considerable respect to the dead to kiver them
that-a-way."

"What good would it do?" asked mother. "The sun shining on the
iron would make it so hot it would burn any flower you tried to
plant in the opening; the water couldn't reach the roots, and all
that fell on the slab would run off and make it that much wetter
at the edges. The iron would soon rust and grow dreadfully ugly
lying under winter snow. There is nothing at all in it, save a